


Silent Film Star

by eventidexilluminations



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety Disorder, Childhood Trauma, Developing Relationship, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Past Suicide Attempt, Physical Disability, Professor Castiel, Psychological Trauma, Student Dean, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 98,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3785476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eventidexilluminations/pseuds/eventidexilluminations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Castiel Novak is rated an average of 4.8 on Rate My Professor, with helpfulness a 5.0, clarity a 4.9 and easiness a 3.9 with the most common tags being "There for you," and "Respected by students" and "Clear grading criteria." He also has a pepper on fire, which does not hurt his case when it comes to students taking his classes. Dean thinks it a poor description of the real deal because no one mentioned the things that made him who he was. </p><p>Of course, Dean never says it either. </p><p>Or anything, for that matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2015

**Author's Note:**

> What am I doing, posting another story before I finish any of my other stories. I guess if it means anything, It Takes Two has only about three or so chapters left and Through Our Eyes, well, I'm honestly thinking about deleting that. 
> 
> And this, it's a spur of the moment thing, as all seems to be, the idea just wouldn't go away, not sure where it'll go so if you have any ideas, feel free to share. I usually don't write from Dean's point of view, I feel more comfortable with Castiel, can relate better and all that, so this is really interesting and new to me, to have a more Dean-centric story. 
> 
> Also, what's it called, artistic liberties or something, that might show up, who knows. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, have fun, and feel free to point out any typos and such! :D

Most people think that by the age of twenty-five, a guy would have his shit together. He would know where he was going in life, maybe if he was really lucky even be heading on the graduate path or already have his Masters in whatever the hell he studied and have jobs lining up. Of course, Dean always said "Fuck you" to everyone who thought that way because they just lived a fucking fantasy life where nothing goes wrong and everything is puppies and rainbows.

At least, old Dean would say that.

New Dean?

New Dean was perfectly alright with not responding, at staring at his gnarled hands before shuffling away without a word, having heard it enough that it bounced right off by now and frankly, their words meant little to him. Then again, that also meant new Dean was not so new. New Dean was actually three years old, been alive and kicking since he was twenty-two, the same amount of time John had no longer been alive and kicking.

The same amount of time where a lot of shit went down and to quote his doctors, he was "traumatised," so that could account for his no longer speaking and he needed help. He thought it was stupid, unnecessary, his insurance would not cover it, so he did not want it, he knew why he did not speak and it was not any sort of "selective mutism," he had his own reasons. Sam was only eighteen at the time and university bound, headed off to sunny California. Before the "trauma," Dean had attended KU and was steadily accepting Sam's eventual departure, they would keep in touch and dad was willing to send money if he ever needed it. After, though, he felt guilty that Sam stayed and had to make it up to him, so he dropped out of school, had him pack his bags, and he never looked back since.

There were plenty of reasons that was unhealthy in most people's eyes, though most people looked away from him upon seeing the large, ugly scar cutting diagonally across his left cheek just shy of hitting the corner of his lips or his hands–Heaven help them if they got a look at his leg–which made it easier for him to live his life. With his hands, there was little he could do that would not leave them aching for a long time and that did not stop him from working wherever he could find they would take a nonverbal guy like him.

Agencies helped with that.

He used them to his advantage enough that he could get work, but not take money for his supposed disabilities. If he was going to put food on the table and pay for their two bedroom apartment, he was going to work for it. And that was all well and good, Sam never pushed him to talk, to go see someone, he talked to him like before and treated him just the same, which was all he really wanted. Except, Sam must have seen something in him that he did not because one night, out of the blue, he slammed a catalogue on the table and had his no nonsense face on.

"You're going back to school, Dean. They have a really good disabled resource centre and I know you don't love it, but it'll help you out with taking notes and getting around. I have the verifications from your doctor and therapist, I filled everything else out, so don't you give me that look."

Sam had learnt to pick up on the subtle changes in his expression and all they spoke, like the small scrunch of his nose to express his distaste and desire for this conversation to end, all he wanted to finish his damn sudoku puzzle. Not that he was able to with gigantor looming over him and eventually sitting down beside him, heaving a great big sigh and now they were going to have a "moment."

Dean hated them.

"I get it, alright? I get that it's… hard. But, it's been three years, Dean. You've got to keep going and jumping agency to agency for temp work isn't doing that. I know you think you can't finish up your degree from before and that's okay. Maybe… maybe this is a chance for you to do something else?"

Dean, obviously, said nothing and kept his eyes firmly on his sudoku book, hand shaking from how tightly he was holding onto his pencil and that was going to bite him in the ass, but he wanted this conversation over, he wanted Sam to get away, he wanted everything to stop and leave him alone, leave him like he fucking deserved. It was when Sam sighed once more, got up, pat his shoulder and told him, "Just think about it? Please," that he finally released the pencil, rubbing the spots it pressed into to ease the ache. His puzzle was fucking ruined now and it was all because of this stupid catalogue.

Nudging it over to get a good look at it, he was not surprised to see that it was of the community college not far from their apartment. Maybe half an hour or so on bus, not too different from the time it took Sam to get to Stanford. It would have been considerably easier to drive and logically, he knew that. But, just as he had left so much behind in Lawrence, the totalled remains and his willingness to step into any car had stayed there as well. Buses kept him on edge, too, he did not like being on them longer than half an hour or when they were especially crowded, though it was not like he could bike everywhere. His brother never got in a car, either, due in part to his reactions when he tried at first and whilst he appreciated that and acknowledged how that had made their move more difficult, along with getting places now, sometimes–often times–he thought he was holding him back.

Maybe this was his way of saying it nicely.

Maybe he wanted him out of his life now. Who would really want a fuck up like him, after all? Sam was a smart kid, he had a smoking hot girlfriend with an equally pleasing personality, he had friends, he was doing amazing in school, he had everything he needed and a broken thing like him was probably cramping his style. He was just too goddamn nice to say it bluntly, that had to be it.

Well, fine.

If that was what Sam wanted, for him to get out of his life, then why the fuck not? He could bullshit a few semesters, show him he was doing well, then his brother would leave and he could go back to living his life as he saw fit. There was not any job out there that would hire him, even if he had ten PhD's and discovered a new element, if he did not talk.

What would he bullshit, though?

Once upon a time, he used to love hands on things, give him a broken car over a book any day and he would be a happy guy. Broken cars made him sick now, he hated seeing them, much less being near them. They carried too many reminders that Dean was not touching with a ten foot pole. So, those types of things were out. He did not like sciences all too much or math. Not to say he was not good at them, they were prerequisites before and he did extremely well, back at KU. He was not one of those 4.0, about eight different clubs, and volunteered on the side kind of dudes, but he was proud of his 3.79 and few clubs he popped into here and there.

He opened the catalogue, flipping to the degrees offered. History, nah, too much reading and discussing. Kinesiology, no, that was immediately out. Political science, he was not too keen on spending his time contemplating politics and possibly needing to debate them. Popular culture sounded interesting, but that usually meant keeping up with things and Dean never did. Psychology.

Hah. As if.

Dean had enough people poking and prodding at him claiming to be therapists, being the good guys and spouting off nonsense. That surely could not be what they were taught in school, they must have twisted it until it benefited them, abusing their knowledge of people's mental states and shit. He fucking hated them, all the ones that were assigned to him, and if there was ever a chance of him talking, they sure as shit pushed it into a deep, dark corner. They probably did that to all their clients, even the ones who were really sick and stuff. He never thought himself a perfect example of stability, nor did he think he was so unstable he needed help. He was simply… there. Broken and all, yes, but that was how it always was.

If he ever took things for psychology, he would do it to prove a point. To show those bastards that there was a certain way they had to do things and their way was not helping anyone out, they were making it worse.

Huh. That might work out, actually.

He could do that, Sam would get what he was trying to do, and he would leave him alone. Then he could continue with his plan and drop out once he left with Jess. Turning to the psychology courses, he stared at them all, trying to determine which he would take before realising he should probably check the professors out themselves.

Taking the catalogue with him, he walked over to their living room, pointedly ignoring how his gait was off like he always did, and plopped down on the couch. The laptop was on the coffee table as expected and he opened it up, signed in and went to Rate My Professor. He never used this before, at KU. He was decently popular, knew a lot of the students with the same major, some ahead of him, asking how so and so was never posed difficulty. Now, he knew no one from there and he was not planning to know anyone from there, which meant his source had to come from here. Glancing from the catalogue to the laptop, he typed in the first name in line: Knapp, Zachariah.

2.7, damn. Definitely not him.

Next was Milton, Anael.

4.1, that looked promising, he put a dot next to her name.

The list went for nine more names, two more got dots until he arrived at the last one.

Novak, Castiel.

Some of these names were really out there, like they herded up all the angelically named people and told them they had to teach psychology at only this school. No matter, he looked up at name.

4.8 out of 134 ratings, holy fuck.

As with any of the professors with that high a score, he clicked on it to see more and read some of the reviews. The first thing he noted was that next to the 4.8 and grade of an A, the little pepper was on fire all it could be. Okay. He was a really good professor and very good looking.

Helpfulness: _5.0_  
_Clarity: 4.9  
Easiness: 3.9_

 _ Most common tags: _  
_"There for you"_  
_"Respected by students"_  
_"Gives extra credit"_  
_"Clear grading criteria"_  
_"Gives good feedback"_

Reading the reviews, they were all genuine sounding. Some called him Professor Novak, others called him Castiel, a few called him Cas or Cassie, which was pretty familiar given he was just a professor they had for a couple of weeks. Then about two or three said they kept in touch with him after and it made a little more sense after.

He got a slightly bigger dot.

The rest of the classes were looked through and this Novak guy taught two others, research methods and abnormal. Abnormal psychology was a class he needed, he checked, and none of the other intro professors were teaching it, so he might as well take it with him. That way, there were less professors to deal with. This Sarah lady would have to be taken for child psychology and those three classes were all he could really take for the time being, any others had prerequisites of intro to psychology and he finished his English and math requirements years ago.

Better for him. He would have less time being out, less people around, and that was the best there could be. Tomorrow, he would head off bright and early to avoid traffic and people, turn his shit in, and that should get Sam to shut up about this.

It was also one step closer to him leaving, but Dean refused to think about that.

All he thought about was sleep that would hopefully be dreamless.

The next morning was not a good one, possibly for anyone.

For Dean, it sucked because he had to get up early on his day off–though, he had not been called in for awhile now–get dressed and go knock on Sam's door, catalogue in hand. That hair of his he wanted to chop off in complete disarray as he opened the door, half-asleep, mumbling, "What, Dean? It's barely seven…" As soon as it was handed over and he realised what it was, Sam suddenly had all the energy in the world, perking up and eyes wide, "Really?" Dean shrugged a shoulder and then flapped his hand, shooing him back in his room to get ready and went to the kitchen to pop in two bagels into the toaster. He never liked eating this early in the morning, though he would rather have it than being bitched at about how breakfast was the most important meal of the day. He got that, he did, but he would have liked to at least wait an hour or two.

Coffee was a different story. He liked coffee, very much so, and he only bought–or told Sam to buy, was more like it–the quality kind. Preparing two tumblers of coffee was easy for him, it was familiar, the high polished stainless steel tumbler with the black grippy band being Sam's and the duller one with the grey grippy band being his. He chose not to think too much into how symbolic those were, instead screwing one the black top then the white top and taking out the bagels.

Sam took too long, in his opinion, to get out. Soon enough, after a shove to the shoulder to tell him just that, they were out on the street, both with a messenger bag slung over their shoulder and tumbler in hand. The walk to the bus stop was short, maybe ten minutes, though ten minutes too long and Dean had to sit down on the bench, trying to relax. It might have helped if he was not out here, listening to traffic and flinching whenever he heard a horn honk near him, but he was doing it for Sam. His brother wanted to move on with his life and his broken big brother was holding him back, he had to show him he was fine to be on his own.

"Dean, the bus is here."

Opening his eyes, he saw the bus pulling up, staying seated as the other three people went in first, then followed his brother as he paid for them both and moved to the back of the bus to sit. His eyes closed after that, only to open up seconds later and he peered out the cloudy window every time they were about to hit an intersection, hands clutching his tumbler and relaxing only when the entire bus was clear.

He fucking hated buses.

With it being so early in the morning, it took about twenty minutes to get to their stop and another ten to get to the college, at which point Sam asked him if he wanted to take a break, they could eat their bagels right now and that he was hungry. Only for Sam did he sit down and eat, he could have kept going. This campus was a lot different than KU or even Stanford from the times he went for his brother and he did not like it. He did not hate it, either, he would simply rather not be here, in this office, with Sam talking to the woman at the desk.

"Hi, we have an appointment."

"Sign in."

She seemed bored as she pointed to the stack of half papers, or maybe she just repeated the same thing a lot, either way Dean was displeased by her attitude, grabbing one of the pens available and scribbling down his name where it was supposed to go and hating–he hated a lot of things, okay?–how his penmanship looked. It was sloppy compared to before, shaky, and though legible and apparently very good to others, he hated it. When he got to the ID number, he was filling it out without a thought, until he caught up at the first three numbers and remembered that was not it anymore, that was old.

That was old Dean.

New Dean had to let go of the pen, fumble to open his bag and pull out the paperwork he had that included his new ID number to slap it down on the counter, cross out the numbers written and write the new one he had. Courtesy of Sam, he found out on the way here, he had enrolled him and gotten everything set up, even this meeting, just in case he did agree.

Whatever.

Dean just wanted to sit down and give his leg a rest, lasting only two minutes when a blonde came out.

"Dean Winchester?"

Fuck his life.

She was all smiles and talkative the short walk to her desk, Sam answering her, regardless of who the question was directed to. As soon as they were all seated, Dean was happy to drink his coffee and sit there as she opened up the sealed envelopes containing the verification forms because apparently his shitty walking and monster of a scar on his face were not enough proof he was physically fucked up and his lack of speaking was not proof he was mentally fucked up.

He knew he was a fucked up guy, though, in plenty of ways, now she would, too. 

"Alright, let's see what we can do for you. How are you liking it here so far, Dean?"

Dean said nothing, as always.

"He's, uh, he's new. First time on campus."

"Oh! Have you seen anything you like?"

Again, nothing.

"We came straight here, so not really any time for sight seeing yet."

She seemed to pick up–finally–that he was not going to answer her or even look at her and she would have known that earlier if she had looked at the damn papers. Dean never really had to look to know when someone realised what was wrong with him, how fucked up in the head he was. It had happened so often at the beginning, that steadily growing horror in their eyes as they read, maybe sometimes they even gasped–she did and covered her mouth, so unprofessional–and then they looked at him like he was some kind of wounded animal, all pitiful and shit.

"Oh. I see."

Yeah, she saw alright and she did not like what she saw, same as everyone else.

"Well, there are a few different services we can provide Dean. I'll explain what they are and you tell me if you think they'll help."

Same as everyone else, she was now directing everything to Sam. He did not talk, it did not mean he was stupid, he could still understand.

This was going to be a fucking long meeting.

\---

Across campus, someone else who was not having a good day was Professor Castiel Novak.

"You want me to _what?"_

"Take over Sarah's child psych class next quarter and give out her finals tomorrow and Wednesday."

Pacing around, Castiel resisted the urge to run his hand through his hair or yell at Anael that how could she do this to him, expect him to do that on such short notice, that was wrong, it was unscheduled, she knew what that did to him.

"I don't teach child psych, Anael," was what he chose to say instead, after swallowing down what wanted to blurt out, "You didn't hire me for my expertise in that, Sarah is the one for that. Even Uriel would be better at teaching that than I."

"And you know perfectly well Sarah went into labour and is going on maternity leave."

"What about Misty? Isn't she coming back?"

"Not in time for the quarter. And you're one of our best professors."

Castiel frowned, not having anything to say back to that. It was not that he hated his job and that was why he did not want to teach that particular class. Quite the opposite, in fact, he loved his job, it hardly even felt like a job and he was confident in his capability to teach. But, his fortes were abnormal psychology, research methods, and biological psychology, he could dive in head first into that and know what was coming. Child psychology, he knew it, but he never did papers on them, never did extensive research, none of that. The students deserved someone like that, someone who knew it all, he was not that person.

He was well liked by the students, he kept in touch with former students, he cared for them all and that made him a very good professor, as Anael stated, yet that was not going to make him any better at teaching this or stop the racing thoughts that this was unscheduled, it was an extra, that was wrong, he had a certain schedule he adhered to, certain hours he could work, he was going to throw up if he kept thinking about it.

"Castiel."

Eyes darting over, he saw he was beginning to pick at the skin around his nails again and dropped his hands, shoving them in his trench coat's pockets because that was familiar to him, safe, it would keep his hands well. Anael had risen from her seat and moved over to him, keeping three steps away and reaching out slowly to smooth out the lapels of his coat because they had shifted.

"I'm sorry. If I could, I'd take the class myself, but you know how much of a workload one research methods class is, two of them and two honours courses is as much as I can take."

"And no one else is available to take the class?"

"Unless you count Zachariah."

Castiel could not help the chuckle that made its way out of him, shaking his head, _"God, no._ Could you imagine him trying to explain babbling or if breast feeding is best? Or better yet, childbirth?"

Of course, he did not feel better about it all, the nagging never left him and about halfway through the final, he left the room, breath shallow and he pulled out a pill bottle, swallowing two of the pills dry and doing some deep breathing techniques to calm himself.

Fine, still fine.

How bad could it be?

Castiel would rather not have that answer. _Ever._

One near panic attack was enough.


	2. January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean really is not looking forward to school. A certain professor makes it less of bitch to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this not long after the first chapter, but figured I would wait to post it. I'm almost done with the next chapter It Takes Two, it'll probably go up in a few hours. 
> 
> This chapter does skip to the first day of the quarter, so about a week passed. If there are any typos or suggestions, feel free to comment.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy!

For being a community college, this place was pretty big. Dean always heard that they were tiny in comparison to Cal States or UC's, but they were big in their own right. Experiencing it himself, how it felt to walk the grounds was likely not going to happen, the walk from the bus stop to the tram stop already winded him for a few moments, hand rubbing his thigh and waiting for the person to come pick him up. Sam insisted, said it was important to get to class on time and he was not going to let Dean's stubborn attitude get him dropped from class on the first day.

Sam also insisted on him taking a bagel for breakfast, a sandwich and apple for lunch and water along with his coffee and geez, he was only going to stay until around noon, not the whole damn day. There was not much he could say when he did the exact same thing to him, however, and he had room in his bag for it. It was not too heavy either and here was the tram for him. He got on, seating himself as far back as the little thing let him, lifting a hand at the guy's chipper, "Good morning!" This was why he would rather walk, less encounters with people who wanted to talk to him.

Luckily, it was only about two or so minutes before he got off, lifted his hand again, and made his way to the building, reading the numbers and looking down at his phone to match the room number.

2811, this was it.

No one else was really around and that made sense, it was still seven thirty in the morning, class did not start until eight, Dean was only here right now because he wanted to avoid people on the bus. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he debated between leaning against the wall or sitting, settling on the former and hearing more people gather around for this class. A few were asking each other if this was the child psych class, if they knew the professor and if she was good, things of that nature.

Typical first day stuff.

At exactly seven forty-five, all the students around quieted then started whispering amongst themselves that a professor was coming. Naturally, Dean expected a female, Sarah was a feminine name. A dorky little guy, dressed in a suit and trench coat, pushing up his glasses and reaching in a gloved hand to pull out keys was not what he was expecting. So, yeah, he might have stared a little as he unlocked and opened the door and even as he walked in and took a seat at the very back, next to the left wall.

Who the hell was this guy?

He looked young. Like, his age young or around there, but he was teaching a class of people that probably were his age. He also looked a bit disconcerted to be there, like he was not meant to be there at all, though he smiled when a student who just came in and sat down at the front told him good morning.

"Where's Professor Sabet?"

"Presumably, no longer in labour and with her baby in arms. She won't be coming back this quarter, I've been asked to take over this section."

And _whoa_ , Dean did not see that voice to coming out of him, he thought he might have a higher range, not like he smoked or gargled whiskey and gravel for fun. Watching him set up was interesting so far, it looked as if he placed everything very deliberately, from when he took off that tan coat, folded it just so and set it on the chair to when he turned on the computer and adjusted the keyboard a little to the left as he typed away. Before he touched anything, however, something swiped over it, something he did not see from his spot and whatever, just a thing he did, he guessed.

Time went by slow until eight hit and more students filtered in, a lot of them recognising this professor and most of them talking to him as they would an old friend.

"Did you see it over the weekend?"

"Not yet, no. I've been going to painful lengths to avoid many, many spoilers, I hope you don't have any for me?"

"It's great, I'll say that. Can't believe what happens! It made me so sad!"

Mystery professor smiled and covered his eyes with a hand, having to go under his glasses and chuckling, "Oh no, how can you say that? Now I'm going to be expecting the worst!" It was all in good fun, he knew, and they chatted for awhile until another student caught his attention and he excused himself to talk to them. Then it was exactly eight when he moved back to the front of the class, clicking on a few keys so the screen would project and addressing the class.

"Good morning. To clear up any confusion, yes, this is Professor Sabet's child psych class, she's currently on maternity leave, so I am taking over for her and this is actually my first time teaching this class. Although I know a few of you, for those of you who don't know me, I'm Professor Novak."

_Oh._

Everything he read did not do this guy justice from what he saw thus far. Saying he was good looking with little detail about how he actually looked and then seeing the dude himself were two entirely different things. From the times his glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, he noted his eyes were blue. Really fucking blue. And his hair looked as if he got up out of bed and said fuck it. Or fucked someone and never bothered to fix it, either worked. He had a nice smile, too, not too big but not too small.

Nice looking guy.

"I'm told I should say a little about myself every new class and I do need to pass thirty minutes before calling role, a good a time as any to introduce myself."

The first slides of the PowerPoint were clearly meant for that and it was a very clean, clear presentation, a fitting thing, Dean thought. Guy went to Illinois State University, came all the way over to Cal Poly Pomona for his graduate program because of family reasons and found himself in a few different positions since then, including this teaching one, which was his first teaching gig. He had an older brother that he lived with, no other living family, and he had been teaching for two and a half years.

"Do you have any questions?"

One girl raised her hand.

"How old are you, Professor Novak?"

"I turn twenty-seven in July."

Holy _fuck,_ this dude was fucking young and doing well for himself. He was one of those guys that excelled in life without an issue, probably got everything handed to him, what fucking God did he piss off to have this thrown in his face, the damn guy was, by his count, twenty-four when he started teaching–after having other well paying jobs–and here he was, twenty-five and with nothing to show for it. It was irrational to get mad at him, he did not even know him, it was misdirected and he tried not to think about it too much, listening to the next question asked.

"Is your brother Gabriel?"

"It's something I question on an alarming basis, but yes, Professor Novak of the sociology department is my brother. He was actually the one who told me of the opening here and encouraged me to apply despite my age at the time."

And another.

"Why did you start teaching instead of getting your PhD?"

Dean was some amount of curious about this all because it turned out he would be having the professor for all three of his classes, so he might as well know if he was a good guy, not just a good professor. His professor had smiled at that and moved to lean against the table the computer was on.

"Well, I don't really care for being called Dr. Novak, could you imagine if people expect me to know what to do when a person is dying because of the title? It's unpleasant. And, I don't need a PhD to do what I want to do, which is teach at this level, and therapy. I'm considered an intern at the moment, I still don't have all my hours to call myself a therapist, but I enjoy that. It's more… listening, though, therapy. You don't talk much yourself, your personal thoughts, any therapist worth their salt doesn't tell you what to do or what to think, they guide you is all. And, like it as I may, I want to be able to talk, to help in other ways, so I teach. I teach in hopes of making a difference in my students' lives, no matter how small, so they may make a positive impact on someone and so on, like a ripple effect. And neither feel like work, I don't wake up and think, 'I don't want to go in today,' which I think is something everyone should strive for, a job that doesn't feel like a job."

Whatever might be said about this man, it was probably not that he was a bad man. As class rolled on, sure, Dean could tell he was a little awkward in how he moved and flustered about how this was his first time with this class, but he was a genuinely good guy that cared about what he did. With the syllabus passed out, which he told them all might be adjusted because he had little to base it on and barely received the textbook two days ago, he finally got to calling out role. The names were all said, along with their major and intended job, and the professor squinted at a few names and sounded them out, asking for the students to correct him until he got them down–more than a lot of professors he knew would do–and finally got to his name.

"Dean Winchester?"

Azures looked around and saw the hand raise ever so slightly, Dean expected him to ask him the questions and please answer though all he did was smile and say, "Pleasure to meet you, Dean," and then, "Onto the wait list and then the walk ins." That was more consideration than lots of people gave him, many of his employers knew how he was and still tried to wheedle words out of him, accounting for a few of the times he quit jobs.

The class moved on after he apologised that he did not have enough space, unless they wanted to bring their own chairs and were dedicated in staying, then he would be happy to fight for their spot because apparently he had a track record of being called up by the department chair and dean in the past for adding too many people. Their book was shown to them as well, their professor flipping through the pages.

"I didn't like Professor Sabet's selected textbook, it was too expensive. This one is about a hundred and twenty dollars less as the loose leaf version. If it's still a problem for you to buy it, please talk to me after class or send me an email and we can figure it out."

Then lecture started and Dean felt lousy. Here was this great professor, talking about lifespan development and stuff the class was about and Dean was sitting there like an idiot, not having the capacity to write everything down from the PowerPoint and the extra he was saying. He had a good memory, most of the time, he was not certain it was impeccable enough to keep all of that and not jumble it up with the rest of the classes. Sam had said yes to the notetaker, he even had the forms for it in his bag yet he did not want to go up to him now and hand it over, seemed rude. Before he knew, the two hours of class were over and before he dismissed everyone, he made one announcement.

"I need a notetaker, if anyone would be so kind as to offer. It won't require anything extra from you, I'll simply need to see your notes at the end of class to make copies. Please stay after class if you're willing. Other than that, you're all free to go."

The professor gave away nothing on who it was meant for. Dean knew. Everyone else was writing, he was the only one who did not. Nonetheless, Dean picked up his stuff and left. He was going to see the guy in a half hour anyway for abnormal psychology and he needed to see where his next class was.

In that class, it was more or less the same thing. Except, a lot more students knew Professor Novak from a previous class and one of them thanked him for his letter of recommendation and how she ended up getting the job. And he looked a lot more comfortable, more in his element, and as he was handing out the syllabus from person to person, he set down Dean's with a little something extra.

The notes from the previous class and a yellow sticky note with neat, small handwriting.

_In case you need them. Please let me know if you require anything else._

_\- Professor Novak_

And that was it, he was teaching this class and made the same announcement at the end, giving no names, no reasons, nothing beyond the fact that he needed someone who took good notes and reminded his students that if they could not afford the DSM-5, he could provide them with an electronic copy with the request to print out pages when he specified.

Dean was a bit surprised, to say the least, how this professor operated. Going from high school to KU, with a small break in between working, he was accustomed to a less personal relationship between his professors. Classes could be huge sometimes, they never had time for all of their students and often times, they seemed glad for it, leaving them to figure it out themselves, or leave them in the hands of tutors. A few of his classes were taught by TA's, even, professor off who knows where.

Hopping on the tram, he had to hold out the map on the planner Sam insisted he take–"They're free, Dean. And they have stickers and a place mark so you won't forget things."–and the male took him over, telling him he would be back in twenty-five minutes. Dean had to wait in line to hand over his bag and take a number because so many people were trying to get books, they had to use a different system the first two weeks, then walked into the bookstore and wandered over to the psychology section, searching for the book he was instructed to buy. Seventy-five dollars, not as bad as tacking on an extra hundred and twenty, and he looked around for the intro book, just because, finding it and gaping at the price.

Who the hell charges two hundred forty bucks for a book?

Fuck that.

Huffing, he went to buy his book, grabbing a binder along the way to keep it in, and got his bag, shoving them in–delicately, of course, he just bought the things–and waiting for his ride. And then there was the bus and walk back and Dean wanted to collapse on his bed and never get up again.

So, he did.

The collapsing part, at least, he did get up when his stomach growled and he remembered his sandwich. And, like that, he was back to his usual routine of the day. Sam got home same as always and he did not pester him from answers about how class was, though he kept glancing at him when they watched television and when they were eating. Finally, Dean had enough and left, coming back with the textbook now in the binder and displaying it. His smile was practically half his fucking face as he took it and started babbling on.

"Is this your book? Oh, loose leaf are a lot better, trust me. Look, it even has online extra material! How much do you have to read per class session? Here, I have this system, it'll really help!"

And Dean could never deny his brother happiness, he listened and nodded along when he explained his "system," remembering to smile or at least try to and he would be left alone later with his thoughts of how stupid could he be, honestly thinking Sam wanted him around anymore, this was the happiest he saw him in a long time.

Sleep never seemed so distant like it did that night.

Going to school the next day was a bitch, to put in nicely. He arrived about ten minutes later than yesterday because the bus was late and like clockwork, Professor Novak showed up at seven forty-five to open the class, suit and trench coat but no glasses this time. Maybe he just needed them sometimes or had contacts. He wondered how that was, not being able to see without some kind of help, he did not want that, though, he had enough trouble as it was.

When they got into the class, students chatted amongst themselves, some with the professor and he talked with them, as well. At one point, he looked off to the side, finished up the conversation, and moved on over. It was an irrational thing to think that he was suddenly going to come over and talk to him, after being in two classes and never try and instigate conversation then. Still, it crossed his mind and he clenched his hands, it was going so well.

Except, he stopped right at the front of his row and then his hands were up, moving about for a few seconds then stopping, his eyes following something then his hands moved again. Looking towards the front, he saw a student doing the same and oh, they were deaf, there was a person sitting in front of them watching them and occasionally signing along with them. This person was clearly not deaf because they turned to the professor and talked.

"I don't know why I'm here if you can do this!"

Professor Novak was humble as he could be nothing else and shook his head, giving a short laugh, "No, I couldn't sign and speak at the same time, I'm terrible at it. I haven't taken nearly enough classes like you, either."

The option was mentioned to Sam years ago, that if Dean was not longer speaking, in the verbal sense, he might try his hands at sign language, to still communicate and all. Thing was, Dean was perfectly capable of speaking. His head was not hit hard enough that his mouth could not form the words or he had trouble finding his words. It may have started, initially, as an inability to speak, maybe it was trauma that kept him from talking. Eventually, it dissolved into simply… not talking. It was his choice. He did not deserve a lot of things in life, John was right about that, there were plenty of reasons and he hit the nail on the head for every single one of them. One thing happened to be he did not deserve a say in things, not like he mattered anyway, dad sure as shit liked to mention that and perhaps it was the fact that it happened to be the last thing said before he kicked the bucket that had it imprint itself so strongly, whatever.

Point was, he should have died then and did not and it was his choice not to talk, not some bullshit therapists said and that was not denial speaking, and talking included sign language.

Besides, he doubt anyone actually missed him talking, they were probably glad he no longer was. And he could still remember–he thinks he does, at least–how he sounded, so maybe they were better off without that around.

What a depressing as shit way to start the day.

Now the professor was talking again and it was more or less the same, he talked about himself, answered questions, and Dean figured out a little more about him. His brother, Gabriel, was four years older than him and acted about ten years younger than him most times. He graduated high school–he did not say which high school–just shy of hitting sixteen because his birthday was in July, which accounted in part to his being relatively young and teaching. He pointedly avoided divulging much detail about his parents because they were dead and he stated that bluntly. And when asked what was something he could do others could not, without missing a beat, he stuck out his tongue, shaped it into a clover for a second, then released it and moved onto the next question.

They went through role and then he was handing out the syllabus. As in the last class, his notes were there along with a pale blue sticky note this time.

_Please come see me in my office after class._

_\- Professor Novak_

Okay, that was a bit sudden. He was only in classes for two days, what could he have possibly done wrong already?

They went through the syllabus and the professor mentioned his dislike of the newer edition, though the department chair was insistent he have it as an option and if they really wanted to buy it, they could. Otherwise, he was fine with the older edition and could send the chapters to anyone who needed them, if they could not find it on their own. As they started going down everything, Dean frowned at one of the projects just as it was being explained.

It was a presentation, needing to be fifteen minutes in length and fulfil all the criteria that would be later released in further detail next week.

Fuck.

The damn thing was worth twenty percent of their grade, being something that was worked on throughout the quarter and rough drafts and shit turned in on certain dates. If Dean did fucking amazing on everything else and skipped that, he could still slide right on out with a B, that was good, right? Somehow, he doubt another class would not have this project.

"Professor Novak, what's this gratitude journal? And kindness project?"

These projects, he was not sure.

"Ah. Well, human beings are naturally wired to think the worst. It's how we survived and developed throughout the years. And, if we don't consider what we have to be thankful for, all we think about is the bad, which affects us far more than we think or would like to admit. The gratitude journal is something we'll do every Thursday at the start of class, it's simply taking five minutes of your time and writing down five things you're grateful for. It can be big or it can be a small, it can even be the same five each week if that's what you're grateful for. We'll be doing something with it later in the quarter."

A few people asked questions about it, some have comments about how they heard about it before or did it, all leading to a very delighted professor before he got started with the next project.

"The kindness project is an end of the quarter project. You'll be getting into groups or doing it alone, whichever you prefer, and the goal is to perform one random act of kindness. Like with gratitude, a lot of people take this for granted, what kindness can do to a person, the lasting impact. I'm not expecting you to orchestrate something to change life on a global scale, or even on a city wide scale, I only want you to reach out and help someone, anyone. All kind acts performed, no matter how small, eventually add up and even if people can't always see it, the person you helped always will."

Jesus Christ, what the hell was this guy doing here teaching? He should be out being a speaker or volunteering or some shit, maybe even being like Mother Teresa and peace and love and all. Hell, maybe he did do that, too, on the side, he was young and successful enough to do it, all humble and crap to boot. He obviously enjoyed teaching though, as seen in the duration of class and then asked for a notetaker at the end. Dean left before he could see who was giving him the notes, gripping his syllabus and reading where his office was.

Peering out, he did not see the tram arriving, a concern he did have when first reading the note because how was the dude supposed to know to wait because his professor wanted to talk with him. This stayed a thought in his head for the ten minutes he waited outside and eventually went to the office. It seemed Professor Novak was just arriving, as well, some papers and envelopes in his gloved hand, catching sight of him.

"Hello, Dean."

Unlocking and opening the door, his professor waited for him to go in first–he was a polite fucker, too, fucking hell–and followed in after with a simple, "Please, take a seat." Dean did, but he was also staring at this office because it was fucking immaculate. All the papers he had were in neat little stacks and in their respective paper trays, little labels on them, all his books were on the bookshelf without any sticking out more than others, even his freaking desk was spotless and everything was placed to look like this was just a goddamn display desk and not one he worked at.

Shit, he thought Sam was a neat freak.

Well, that was probably being mean, he used to say that to Sam–when he still talked–as a way of making fun of him. He had no grounds to make fun of this guy, he hardly even knew him. Said guy was adjusting his gloves, Dean saw he wore them a lot, actually, and keeping the papers and envelopes he had picked up in front of him, he pulled out another sheet of paper and slid it over to him.

"This is your assignment, instead of the presentation. The amount of research and effort you'll have to put in is equal to the rest of the class, so I'm expecting equal dedication and quality to everything you turn in with regards to outlines and drafts. All of the modifications to the assignment are listed, though do feel free to request clarification for any of it, I'm happy to help."

Originally, Dean wondered what God he pissed off to have this, now he was leaning more towards what God did he go and please to have this.

"Also, your notes," Dean nodded dumbly and if he did talk, he probably would not know what to say anyway, "Is there anything you need clarified at the moment?"

No, he was pretty sure he covered everything he possibly could and the professor smiled that smile of his, kind of muted, like he was still trying out what he was really supposed to do, and nodded.

"I'm glad. I notified the DRC ahead of time that I would be keeping you, so they should be coming now. Samandriel is a wonderful student, don't hesitate to let him know if you need to stay a bit longer. You may stay here until he comes, if you wish. However, I do need to get going for my next class, though I don't imagine the students will lament if I'm late and they'll be excited to shave off any amount of time from the three and a half hours they have to stay."

Fuck, he could barely stand being in two classes for two hours each with a thirty minute break in between, he could not imagine two hours, office hours, then another three and a half hours. Might as well get out of his hair, so he stood up, taking his papers with him, and shook his head. And the other simply stood up with his own stuff, locked the door behind him when they got out, and smiled.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Have a lovely day."

All Dean did was stare as he walked off in that strange way of his, stuck for a moment in the hallway before shaking it off and going to where he was picked up. Same guy as before, though he took a closer look at him this time around. A student, Professor Novak said–Samandriel because angelic names were not only for the professors–and though he had on a baseball cap with the school's logo on it and it distracted some from his face, it did betray the fact that he was rather young when really examined.

Dean liked to think of this rather than being on the tram and how exposed he was, how this was too much like a car. Sam tried to rationalise it for him, that it was more like a golf cart than anything else and it was only on school grounds, he was not being taken to the streets on it. Only two to three minutes, two to three minutes of his life, that was it. He would rather walk it, honestly, but a part of the walk was steep and he sometimes had trouble going up steep things, his leg would ache too much and refuse to function anymore, felt like it was on fire and that was an unpleasant memory. Doctors said it might help him if he used some sort of "assistive device," which he called bullshit on because if they wanted to say something like a cane or whatever, they should just say it.

The fact that this little tram/golf cart deal was prohibited from honking, could only go about five miles an hour, at most, and had to wait until it was all clear to keep on going helped deal with it and he would still rather walk it.

"Have a great day!"

Samandriel was peppy, Dean only gave a wave of his hand and was very, very ready to go home.

All in all, the classes were okay, he guessed, did not make him want to jump off a bridge thus far, the whole being outside and interacting did make him want to sleep about a whole week.

At least until Sam got home, then he would show him his stuff from school and little Sammy would be one step closer to his freedom.

Everyone was better off without him, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I have many end notes. I'm not sure how other community colleges work, so I based it off the one I went to. Maybe KU works different from other universities in California, but as I know them here, professors really aren't seen very often, for psychology, at least. Research is their main deal, teaching is kind of on the side. Other majors might be different, they might not.
> 
> Castiel is actually partly based on a professor I had for abnormal psychology, she was a really amazing woman and gave me so many opportunities I might have never otherwise had and she also was very willing to accommodate whenever any student needed it.
> 
> And the gratitude journal and kindness project were actually projects I had in my intro class, they were fantastic, the professor was, too. And I thought it fit Castiel well, haha.


	3. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is having a decent quarter, save one crappy incident, and when it comes to an end, he decides to do something he has not in a long time. To get Sam to shut up, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third chapter, alright. There aren't really any warnings to put in this, nothing horribly explicit, unless you count bad typos, haha. Feel free to comment, leave suggestions, whatever you please. 
> 
> Oh, ADLs are activities of daily living. Just in case anyone isn't certain. 
> 
> Enjoy! :D

What Dean really hated were those kind of people that took shit too lightly and acted like they knew everything, and when they were called out, they acted like they were the victims and poor them, when no one was really attacking them like they said, all they were doing was trying to explain something to them. The reason Dean thought about how much he hated this is because five weeks into his classes, he really has had enough of this dick and bitch couple doing that in class every time Professor Novak tried to clarify something they said.

They were really fucking stupid, honestly. Everything seemed to go over their heads or they refused to believe anything other than what they knew to be correct before this class and they made really jackass comments, completely inappropriate and told people to "calm _down,_ geez, I can say my opinion if I want," when they mentioned that it was a little uncalled for. Every class had some bad in it, usually, Dean just could not believe his luck that it had to be this kind of bad for him.

The professor handled it with finesse, never getting angry and politely telling them that they had to move on, though they were free to discuss it with him during his office hours if they were so passionate about it, or reminded them that disruptions to the class like this were frowned upon and he did not want to ask them to leave.

Not this time, though.

An average day in abnormal psychology was the male lecturing, giving them a ten minute break and then more lecture, with discussions in between. Sometimes they had activities for specific things, usually talking about a particular disorder. Today, Dean had the papers in front of him, he preferred printing them than buying the book, and they were all a variety of anxiety disorders. A guy was finishing up his own experience with knowing someone with OCD, then another chick talked about how she knew someone with really severe social anxiety and then that bitch–he never even bothered to learn her name, she was hardly worth the effort–raised her hand and opened her big, fat mouth.

"Aren't you a little OCD, teach? I heard some of your old students talking."

Although Professor Novak did talk about himself now and again, when it pertained to the subject at hand, like personally knowing someone with bipolar disorder or his experience with someone with schizophrenia when he worked at a psych hospital, he never mentioned anything personal like that. And really, he did not have to, Dean thought. So what if he did have something, it was not the end of the world. To his credit, the professor only tilted his head at that, eyes squinted and brow furrowed slightly, not stuttering or anything with all the students looking his way.

"I suppose an appropriate response to that could be am I a little alive? Or are you a little alive? To say anyone is a little OCD disregards its severity and that it is a genuine mental illness, the same way saying you or I are a little alive downplays what life truly is."

"But I have this friend who's like you, she's a little OCD, she always likes things clean and in order."

"That, I believe, is considered liking cleanliness and order. What needs to be understood about obsessive compulsive disorder is that it's not done because someone likes it. It affects a person's ADLs, it isn't something to throw around simply because one happens to like their pencils all sharpened or doing a certain thing a lot."

"You didn't answer my question! That's rude, you know!"

She was the rude one and her dick of a boyfriend was pushing for an answer, too, with a few others now curious because it was out in the open, everyone loved to gossip, it would be exciting to them.

Everyone was stupid. Dean noticed a few things about his professor in the past five weeks. He always showed up at seven forty-five, he was always wearing gloves, he wore glasses Monday and Wednesday's, contacts Tuesday and Thursday's, he walked the way he did because he did not touch certain spots, there a few things that always showed up and sometimes, during child psych, he would continuously pat his pocket and as soon as it was break, would zoom right on out and not come back until it was over. He noticed these, but he never thought to diagnose him or label him. Everyone had their quirks, those were maybe some of his.

Or maybe it was some disorder he had, that was fine, too, it would not define him.

"The question is rather personal, Ms. Lowell, and this class is not about me. If you care to know, you may see me after class."

"We all want an answer now, though! Do you have it, or something else just as bad?"

Bad. That was an ugly word and there was a quick flash of something Dean caught in his eyes, just a second, before the professor straightened up from leaning against the desk.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave now, Ms. Lowell. Your participation will be marked down as a result."

 _"What?!_ You can't do that!"

"I've reminded you of the class policies countless times already. And if you believe OCD and other mental illnesses are bad, as you say, perhaps the psychology path is not the best one you can pursue at the given moment with that stigmatisation present. Have a lovely rest of your day."

Bitch looked outraged at what she was told, nostrils flaring as she packed up all her stuff, "I'm going to talk to your boss! Come on, Rudy!" And, dick left with her, the male unflinching as they slammed the door, merely looking back to the class with a smile.

"Does anyone else have any questions on OCD or any anxiety disorders?"

A guy next to him raised his hand.

"So, OCD isn't about cleanliness?"

Class moved on.

When class was over, Dean found himself standing outside, near where he was picked up and reading over one of his assignments. It was a paper of three pages, nothing too grand and he thought it was a good paper nonetheless. The sources were reliable and he did not sound stupid in it. Green pen underlined his sources, however, and there was a note at the top near his name.

_Please see me during office hours._

_– Professor Novak_

Fuck if he knew what he did wrong. Maybe he actually wanted to tell him good job, something equally ridiculous that he would never in a million years be told. Hopefully this would be quick, his office hours started at twelve forty-five, he could beat traffic if it was quick. Looking out at the streets on this side, he frowned at the cars and how they drove on by so innocently. Cars sucked. Or people who could not drive cars sucked. They both sucked.

In hindsight, he should have seen it coming. _"You couldn't have predicted that driver, Dean. It isn't your fault,"_ is what he heard from all the shrinks and even the doctors who let him know his leg and hands would never fully heal and to look on the bright side, it could have been much worse. Bullshit, all of it, he should have seen it then and he should have seen it now. Yeah, the street was a considerable walking distance from where he was and were he to ever talk, there was no way in hell they would hear him even if he shouted at the top of his lungs. But he should have done something, anything, when that reckless as shit driver tried to turn when it was not their light.

He did not.

Instead, he along with many others watched the car making the left turn crash into the side of the one turning right, the impact shoving the car up onto the sidewalk and horns, they were both honking, they had been this whole time. Other spectators gasped, maybe, or were shocked to see this so close to them.

Dean?

Dean could not breathe, just like then, everything was exhaust and fire, it was flesh burning and blood dripping, glass in his lungs, every breath shorter and shorter, oh God, he was _dying,_ he was dying right here, all that smoke caking his airway and his heart, it was going too fast, going to _burst,_ oh fuck, fuck, just like dad–

"Dean, breathe. Listen to my voice. I'm right here."

Something went over his mouth and he did not open his eyes, keeping them clenched shut, who knew when that happened. Just, he did not want to see it, not that, not the wreckage, not the blood, the glass everywhere, the skid marks, _the body,_ God, _no,_ none of it.

"You're okay, Dean. Slow, deep breaths."

Whatever was over his mouth was covering it entirely and it never occurred to Dean that it was not one of those oxygen masks because how the hell could it be when he was at school, not there, it was not like the ones they put on him and he did not consider that, he knew it took the smoke away, pulled the glass out of his lungs that made him wheeze for air, it was clean and fresh, no smell of burnt flesh and blood, he knew there was a voice, telling him how to breathe because clearly he forgot how to on his own.

"Good, you're doing great, Dean. I'm right here. You're okay."

His heart was not ready to explode out of his chest anymore, he did not feel like his skin was on fire, there was no glass, no blood, no flesh burning. There was soft material touching his face, from whatever was over his mouth, that smelt like flowers, and as he cracked his eyes open, he saw the material was a pair of gloves, the ones Professor Novak always wore. The man himself knelt in front of him and that had him see that he was on his knees and one of his hands was clutching his throat and the other the cuff of his professor's trench coat.

Shit.

Eyes wide with a lot of things–mortification, mainly–Dean dropped his hands and the professor pulled his back, smiling and picking something up next to him, "How about we go to my office? I don't think you find the ground any more comfortable than I do." Anything to get the fuck out of that area, he could feel people staring and he did not ask for help, leg aching and all, though the other gave it anyway until he was standing.

Back when therapists saw him experience something like that, when he bothered keeping up the pretence of going for help, which he did not need, they insisted on all these questions about what he felt, what specifically triggered it. Real thoughtless kind of things, if anyone asked him, to ask about immediately after. Professor Novak did not say a word hinting that he was going to question him, only telling him to please take a seat when they got into his office and setting down next to his chair when he did.

His messenger bag. He had not noticed that he no longer was carrying it, or his paper that was handed over to him, crumpled some and he placed it on his lap, trying to smooth it out. Even now, the professor did not push anything, organising his things and addressing the reason he was asked to come.

"Your assignment was well done, with the exception of how you cited. Since you're taking intro psych, is it safe to conclude you've never used APA format?"

Dean did nothing more than move in his seat and that was an answer to him, something most would not catch. Probably his therapist–intern, whatever–practice or something, he dealt with people on a frequent basis.

"That's alright. We haven't gone over it in intro just yet, but I don't usually have many students taking abnormal and intro at the same time. What I can do for you is give you this," he rolled his chair over to his bookcase and plucked out a book carefully, coming back and holding it out for him, "It can be a bit dense for some, though it explains all you need to know."

Taking the hard cover book, he read the title.

_Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association._

What a mouthful.

"Also, I don't give this out often to current students, though I trust you won't be sharing it with anyone."

His professor retrieved a post-it note from the dispenser he had and wrote something down, it being handed over as well.

A number.

His professor gave him his number. His professor with a 4.8 and pepper on fire gave him his number like howdy do. Dean did not know what to think about that.

"My brother has convinced me this means of communication is more convenient, faster than email, so feel free to send a text if you have any questions for the assignment due Wednesday or any other."

Numbers read over and over, he finally gave a nod and made to leave. He should do something other than that so before he left, he tapped the book, waited all of two seconds and heard the, "You're welcome," as he left. Since he never looked back, heading to the tram, he never saw how Castiel practically tripped over himself getting out of his office and sped walk to the faculty bathrooms, locking the door behind him and ripping the gloves off, not caring whether they made it in the trash or not. What he cared about was turning on the hot water and thrusting his hands under the running water, hissing at the contact, at how it made the scabbed scratches on the top of his hands and picked skin around his fingernails feel like they were on fire.

Go away, go away, go away, wash them once, wash them twice, wash them _again and again and again._ How much had it spread, did he have to wash his arms, he should wash his arms, get rid of it, deadly, go away, go away, go away. Sleeves up, more scars and partly healed cuts, more added because he had to get it all off, all of it, all those _bodily expulsions,_ toxic, must have seeped through his gloves, he could feel the warmth and now the burn, it would clean it, _again and again and again,_ scrub harder, breathe, he had to breathe, breathe to keep washing.

_How disgusting, Castiel. Do you want to get sick and **die?**_

_Again and again and again,_ go away, go away, go away, _**goawaygoawaygoaway.**_

The door unlocked and Castiel did not notice, short nails scraping, drawing blood and a pair of hands reached out to turn off the water with a paper towel once all the soap was gone from his hands.

"Hey there, bro. I think that's enough for now, why don't we do one of your breathing techniques instead, huh? You and me, I'll patch your hands up, I even have your spare."

Castiel took a moment to try and compose himself, staring at his hands, red from the water and his scratching, blood swelling up, eyes clenching shut as he faced his brother because this was supposed to be under control, he thought he could handle the short contact, it was necessary, Dean was having trouble breathing, he should have managed, but the entire conversation was so hard, his attention split, he had felt Dean's breath through his gloves, it had warmed his hands, puff by puff, the body expels what it does not need, bad things, germs, he could not be exposed like that.

A cool gel was squirted into his palms and Castiel was used to it, falling into the routine of spreading it over his hands and as high up on his arms as he could, he never had to see anymore and he listened to the plastic crinkle as Gabriel opened up what he was holding. Gabriel never touched him when he was like this, or much of ever, really, which made him feel bad. His brother was affectionate, he knew this, and he would love to be able to hold him from time to time, like a hug on Christmas or their birthdays or New Years, or be clapped on the back when Gabriel thought he said something funny, he would have loved to have been able to do that and so much more.

He just could not.

And it was frustrating. He could try and try and try all he wanted, with little progress made and his brother never faulted him on it, only told him that there was always tomorrow, one of the few times he remained serious. It would come with a joke not long after, effectively shooting any chance of remaining somber and he took it every time. One day, though, one day he would be able to climb over this wall, he would be able to surprise his brother with a hug or maybe even a kiss to the cheek, the way he saw family do, he would be able to do all that and more.

Today was not that day.

Today, he held out his hands and felt the gloves being slipped on carefully, opening his eyes once they were and looking at Gabriel, three decent length steps away, tossing away the plastic before nodding to the door.

"Let's blow this joint. I left a note, told your kids I stole you, so office hours are a no go. Your stuff's in my office."

And he followed along beside Gabriel as close as he could get, listening to him go on about one of the history professors–Kali, though he was not clear on her last name–and how she was hot and had a brain and personality to match. His description of her did have him thinking of when he walked the halls, history classes were on the lower level of this building, psychology and sociology mainly on the second, with the exception of research methods and stats, so he did recall seeing her around and she looked like a no nonsense type of woman and highly doubt his brother's tactics would earn her affections.

Maybe he could help out?

Castiel would put it bluntly, he was terrible at relationships. Accelerated in education as he was, it was a little awkward telling people he was sixteen and in college and by the time he had transferred to Cal Poly and someone had shown interest in pursuing a relationship with him, he ruined any chance of it when she–he thinks her name was Daphne–had leant in and tried to kiss him at the end of their date. That ended with his iced tea spilling in his haste to get away and a stuttered out excuse to leave, but he had a very good time.

He never talked to her again.

Helping his brother out was maybe not the way usually gone about, but he could try and warn her, tell her he was immature but a good man, something. This would have to be planned out, he made a mental note to do so, and continued listening as Gabriel now talked about his students and the outrageously hilarious social experiments they had, which included someone trying to snatch a fellow student's pink handbag. The pink was very important, he said, since it made it funny trying to see a six foot five burly athlete lie his way out of being reported for carrying it around.

Gabriel deserved to be happy, Castiel would do what he could, even if he could not do it the normal way.

\---

By the time the third hour rolled along, Dean was close to throwing this damn book out the window. And he would have, too, if it were his. Since it was not, he would keep on grinding his teeth and looking back and forth from the book to the laptop. He got most of the citation down, but then there was all this stuff about indenting and how to put it in his paper and what the fuck?

Initially, he may have cheated a little, typing in the information into some website that spat out the citation for him. It was wrong because he would not be stuck here if it was not. No way in hell he was going to ask Sam, he had his own things to worry about and if he was going to show him he was fine on his own, he could not go asking about something that should be simple.

Staring was not doing any good either and he huffed, closing the book and the little folded up post-it blew out from the force, almost falling off the table. There was that option. Professor Novak said to text if he had any questions and this qualified as a question, right? How was he supposed to ask, though? He never texted anyone, not in a long time. Usually, the system was, he got texts and if he was going in to work that day, they would know because the little symbol that it was read would show. If it was ignored, he was not.

With Sam, it was generally the same thing. Sometimes, Dean would take a picture of something, like dirty dishes in the sink or books in places they should not be, and send it. He would get a sheepish, or as sheepish texts could convey, "Sorry! I'll clean it when I get home!" But he never actually said, "I'll be at work," or "Clean the damn dishes!" Communicating like that was just a big no.

Maybe the professor would get it.

That in mind, he typed in the number, it turning blue–so he had an iPhone, too, random facts to know–and then he aimed his phone at the screen, trying to get a good shot. Once he did, he sent the picture. It occurred to him after that what if the guy had no idea who he was? There was no name on the paper, just his source, and his name was definitely not Estell, D.B.

Fuck.

Maybe that was why it only said delivered, he probably ignored it, not knowing who it was. But then the little dots started up and he received a picture, one he clicked on to get a better look. It was his source, typed out exactly how he had it and another below it, some other one with the name Novak, C. J. and a different title. The only things that did look somewhat similar between them was parts were highlighted, though the closer he looked, the more evident it was his was still off in certain places.

Professor Novak was showing him what he did wrong through pictures instead of typing out a response. Or, he thought there was no actual response until he zoomed out of the source and saw something towards the bottom and checked.

_You're a fast learner, Dean. :)_

Dean snorted because of all things he could have guessed about his professor, emoticon use was not one of them. At least he knew it was him. That made him feel a little better, he did not give out his number so openly that he knew it was him. Staring at the picture, he thought about it for awhile before turning to his laptop and opening up his browser and typing away.

Five very aggravating searches later, he found what he was looking for.

_Diffuse Axonal Injury and White Matter Decline in Traumatic Brain Injured and Normal Aging Adults_

_Castiel James Novak, M.S._

Truthfully, Dean had no fucking idea what that meant, he picked out some words of that whole title, though how about that, his middle name was James.

Another random fact stored away.

These facts kept coming throughout the quarter. For instance, his first thought of him being a dorky little guy was not too off. He had a lot of stories relatable to his classes and would laugh as he recalled "how ridiculous he was back then." The story that seemed to get the heartiest laugh out of him was telling them, when careers in psychology came up, that as he was finishing his Master's, he used to work at Disneyland and it was, in fact, not the happiest place on earth, if a worker there. The pay was eleven dollars an hour, which was decent, though he had an interview for a hospital as soon as he graduated and he thought it was going great except they told him they were sorry at the end, which he figured meant he was not going to get the job. Then they told him they could only pay him the minimum that turned out to be twenty-two dollars an hour and he had been so shocked, he wanted to blurt out something inappropriate–he refused to say what–and instead, in the calmest, most professional voice he could muster up told them, "I think I can work with that," and they gave him the job.

He also seemed to like to mention antics on Facebook and talked about his friend, Mrs. Hamburger, who he could not say who it was because she had a government job, so whenever they took pictures, she had a hamburger covering her face, since it was her favourite. Or about how please, wait until after the quarter or at least class ended if they really wanted to look at his Facebook or add him, he had enough incidents in class that he was teaching and a student would exclaimed that they were also somewhere he was that night or something like that, which left him a little awkward.

There were a few more things that he noticed as the quarter came to a close and now it was finals, the last final for him, and questions were being taken before they started. Usually, Dean was not in the classroom taking the exams, he headed over to the DRC because one of his accommodations was extended time for quizzes and exams, due to his difficulty writing for an extended period of time. And Professor Novak was big on getting them to apply concepts, not simply regurgitate definitions, writing was a necessity. His first exam, he tried writing all he needed but even with the three hours he had, he eventually had trouble holding his pencil and all that would come out were scribbles, pencil flying off to make a streak across his blue book when he attempted to write an o or cross a t.

That had pissed him off so much, he threw down the pencil, grabbed his stuff and went right out the door, leaving it all behind and saying fuck the tram, he could do it himself. His leg hurt for the rest of the day and the next and he got a note from his professor to see him. Rather than lecturing him in his office, he handed over an iPad that was open to a note, the questions on the exam typed out and waited. It was easier to tap at the keyboard, he got through it in an hour and ten minutes, roughly, before handing it back over.

"I'll let the DRC know to let you use this next time."

Ever since then, his exams consisted of typing in A, B, C, D, or E for multiple choice and typing out paragraphs under the careful eye of a student worker. Extended time on the already three and a half hours for a final seemed like overkill, so he was taking it in class and listening to the professor answer questions.

"What classes are you teaching next quarter?"

"Spring I'll be teaching bio psych, research methods and abnormal, unless someone else goes into labour and I have to cover again."

Biological and research methods, he knew he needed those, and one other class to get that AA-transfer degree and junk. And he had registered already for them, his other class with Professor Anael Milton. Psychology of Women, if he recalled correctly. That was later, though, right now he took iPad handed to him and watched the professor head back to the front, telling everyone good luck and to begin.

The break was a week long and already on the second day, he was ready to rip his hair out and shove it in Sam's mouth so he would shut up. Finishing the quarter had him all kinds of excited and he was asking him how it was, did he meet anyone, was he going to hang out with them, stupid stuff. No one was talked to in his class, he rarely made eye contact with them. The most he ever communicated with anyone was his professor. And yeah, he may or may not have added him on Facebook, it was not like he used it very often, though. Mostly, he scrolled through it, then was bitter at seeing how successful people he used to talk to were and exited the app.

The professor did tell his students he would be happy to keep in contact with them if they wanted, have a cup of coffee or just chat. If he did that, then maybe Sam would shut the hell up and the professor never did cross any boundaries. That in mind, he pulled out his phone, opening up the map and found the closest Panera Bread to the school. Screenshot taken, he went to the clock and did the same thing once he got the time on the alarm.

That should be understood, yeah?

Three dots later two pictures came in, the same ones he sent and then the dots started again, another message sent.

_:)_

That was his favourite, Dean had come to conclude, the simplistic little happy face.

Good enough for him, he wandered over to their little dining room and showed Sam the pictures, who was thrilled.

"Who are you going with? Are they nice? Did you meet them in class?"

Nose scrunching, his brother noticed that and backed off long enough for him to go to Facebook and show him the profile.

"Castiel Novak… dude, isn't that your professor? You have a date with him or something?"

And that was it for that talk, he was heading back to his room, Sam's laughter and teasing muffled the moment he closed his door.

Not a date.

Dean Winchester did not date, not anymore. He was just an interesting guy that knew boundaries and shit and yeah, he was good looking and had a nice laugh and smile and sure, he got why people said what they did about him on that website, though he was some smart as fuck professor that probably liked talking about degrees of axonal stretches or neuropsychological deficits, things Dean had no fucking clue about, and again, he did not date.

This was to make Sam be quiet was all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a date, Dean says. Hm, hm, wonder how that'll be.
> 
> Writing out panic attacks and what goes through the mind whilst partaking in a compulsion hits awfully close home for me, so I'm sorry if it's vague or scattered, any of that.
> 
> And, I had to deal with a girl in one of my classes like Dean did, it was the worst, everyone seemed happy when she dropped the class. 
> 
> What Castiel does to help Dean out is something like the equivalent to having a paper bag and using it. There are mixed studies to how effective this method is, the paper bag/hands and all, it depends a lot on the person, too. It helped Dean out a lot because the association he made with oxygen masks, the experience he went through and stuff. Can't give away too much of it, though a big chunk of why he's so afraid and anxious about being in cars is already out there. 
> 
> Not as much about Castiel is given away, though that'll change as the story progresses. 
> 
> Any more notes, I'll be sure to add if necessary.


	4. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean likes certain parts of going back to school, even if they are very little. Other parts, well, he could do without. He is twenty-five and in college, not in high school with needless drama. It just has a way of coming around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile since I updated this, sorry about that. I got a little stuck on what to do and all. So, if you have an ideas or what you might like to see, feel free to comment and I'll do what I can to fit it in. 
> 
> This skips to about halfway into the next quarter because I'm not too sure you want to read about day to day events, especially when they're barely getting to know each other and not much will likely be happening between them. It will, soon, they'll have known each other for awhile and all. 
> 
> Other than than, there might be typos, I'll fix them soon.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

_"Mary would be ashamed of your behaviour."_

_Mom… would she really?_

_"You're twenty-two but you act like a brat, this is the fifth time this month. What do you think this teaches Sammy?"_

_Sammy was a good kid, he knew better._

_"I can't take anything you say seriously. You'd be helping out everyone if you just kept your mouth shut."_

_Enough._

_"You know what, dad, fuck-"_

_Horns honking._

Dean woke with a start, hearing knocks on his door, wide emeralds looking towards it as he tried to catch his breath.

"Dean? Dean, you okay?"

A dream. It was just a dream. Nightmare, memory, whatever, it was not real anymore. His phone alarm was vibrating by his head and he turned it off before sliding out of bed and going to the door to open it. Sam was on the other side, the furrow of his brow smoothing out when he saw that he was indeed okay. Dean waved him off, cocking his head to the side when he saw how he was dressed, gesturing to exactly that and waiting for an answer. His brother ducked his head and he was not the only one good with body language, Dean knew what that meant.

"I'm going out with Jess," he paused, "You'll… you'll be good, right? Going on the new bus yourself?" It was never anything he asked for, Sam just squeezed his way in every time he would take a new bus somewhere or go somewhere new. More than a little annoying, he was fucking twenty-five, but hey, if Sammy wanted to reassure himself and follow him around, as long as he did not cramp his style.

… Yeah, as if he had any to cramp, being mute and a cripple was totally in style now.

He rolled his eyes at him only a little and the other took that as his answer, shoving his shoulder a little, "Jerk," and he was going out of their apartment, leaving him standing there in his boxers and t-shirt. Then his left leg started to hurt from the sudden stand and he went back to sit down on his bed, hands rubbing his thigh. It never stopped being weird, having his gnarled hands touching the scarred skin, sleek in some parts from how the burns healed and looking all wrinkly and twisted and off everywhere else, and the more he looked at it, the more obvious the loss of muscle in his left leg was.

He hated it so much.

He used to be active, especially in high school, he used to love it. And now he could not even run a mile. Or probably even a freaking quarter mile. There were a few other little scars, prongs of a fork and that was his bad. But, hearing the news he did from the doctor and freaking out about not feeling his leg at first kind of made a guy do some really stupid–like stupider than normal–things. And now he was stuck in some kind of punishment level, feeling his leg but usually it was always hurting if he did really feel anything when he did too much.

Whatever, his leg could go fuck itself, he had better things to do than to throw it a goddamn pity party.

Like, he had to get ready to go see Professor Novak.

… He probably should think of him other than Professor Novak, they were not going to be in class today, it seemed too formal for being at a Panera Bread. The place was chosen because the other had mentioned it and a few other places often of where he met with current or past students. If he remembered right, Panera Bread was a considerably big place and not very crowded all the time, which was good.

The less people the better.

Dressed in the usual jeans, boots and work shirt under a jacket, he thought it decent looking enough for a Panera Bread. If anyone said anything, Dean was almost a hundred percent certain it was not going to be because of his clothes. Packing his bag with the little he needed to carry, he locked the door behind him, walking out of the apartment building after slipping on his headphones, muffling everything but the music he played.

Going out was easier if he had something to listen to that he knew. He knew when it started, what was said, what song would be next. He knew all the lyrics and was able to play some of these songs before. They were not sudden like traffic and he kept a pretty vigilant watch to make up for his lack of hearing things properly. The only time he did take them off was when he was on the bus and they were at a cross street, eyes flicking both ways, body relaxing once they were in the clear and off he got at one stop, waited three and a half songs until the next bus came and the process was repeated.

This would be a lot easier if the damn Panera Bread was on his street or closer, like Starbucks was on every corner.

When he finally made it, Dean sat outside to catch his breath and massage his leg, not that he would ever admit it in a million years. It was probably petulant or out of some ridiculous sense of pride or spite that he never took the option of using a cane or anything that might help him out. He was not old, he was twenty-five, he could do everything on his own just fine. If there was any time he was going to use a cane, he would be towards the very, very end of his life, not what was supposed to be his prime.

No pity parties, no time.

He made his way inside Panera Bread, observing the interior and how the menu and display was set up. Never having been in one of these before, it was of some point of interest. The prices, however, were not and he gawked at how people could pay $8.59 for a panini. It was just a sandwich with a fancy name and some had fancy sounding cheese but hell, it was just cheese, it all came from the same damn cow.

"Dean."

Jumping, he spun on his heel to see Professor–fuck, no, Castiel, not in class. Point was, Castiel was standing beside him, like he had teleported there, might as well have with how quiet he was, giving a small smile his way and looking at the menu.

"It is quite expensive, isn't it? I've been told it's well worth the price."

There was a short pause and then he spoke up again.

"Might you indulge me? I'm curious about this Lentil Quinoa Bowl with Chicken."

Dean sniffed.

Castiel smiled.

"Thank you. I don't want to overload you with bread, so it'll be a normal bowl."

And then Castiel went up to the register and was ordering and whoa, wait, he was cool with trying out this soup or whatever, he actually made picking something to eat a whole lot easier and he did not stand there like a dumbass trying to figure out what to get and then how to order it. But, now the man was pulling out his card–he had a credit card from CitiBank, another random fact–and paying for the meal and if Dean did not learn in the twelve weeks he was in class with him that he did not necessarily get physically close to people, he would have tapped his arm. Instead, he grabbed one of the gift cards there and rapped it against the counter to get his attention, putting it back once he did.

By that point, he had already paid and was motioning him to follow to a table he clearly has been sitting at before, his bag was there and some papers were out. Dean sat across from him and rapped his knuckles against the table, right by the receipt he had there. The other glanced at it then shook his head, pushing up his glasses.

"You don't have to pay me back. It's something like… a study." The professor saw the twitch of his nose and laughed, "It's nothing bad, I assure you. I don't eat out, it's very rare that I find myself comfortable enough to allow another to handle the food I eat or what I drink. And I don't eat certain foods, so that narrows my choices down even if I did eat out. But, I do enjoy knowing what people think about dining out and the options they're given. Since I asked you and it's my study, it's only fair I provide the food. You'll learn more about that in research methods."

Dean glanced back down at the receipt then at the man, gnawing away at his tongue as he considered this. Normally, he would keep insisting to pay for this, he did not need charity or anything, people always thought he was dirt poor or something like that because oh, poor him, all fucked up and nonverbal, he must live in a fucking dumpster of a place, they just had to give him a good meal and then they could brag about how they helped the cripple they knew. Castiel said nothing about that or looked like that was his intention. He was curious about food he chose not to eat and wanted to know what it was like, Dean was someone he trusted would give him an honest opinion about it and apparently a study meant he had to give everything.

Made sense, the times he heard about studies or experiments, the people did not tell them take their own pills, they provided them. Moreover, the professor was asking him to do it and not only did he understand the small things he did, he was treating it as though they were real, proper answers, not like he was some sort of freak that was a delicate glass flower that he might break.

Dean liked that.

So he gave a small nod that satisfied the man and eventually one of the workers came with his food, leaving him staring at the bowl and bread then at his professor, who chuckled at his expression.

"I know. Gabriel always gets the bread bowl, which makes the side order of bread seem excessive. I normally come with him whenever I want to find out about a particular food, but I won't tell if you don't."

His answer was ripping off a piece of the bread, raising it to him and dipping it in the broth.

There were a few other things he did to answer, like sticking his tongue out at the lemon wheel or scrunching his nose at the kale or poking at the rice and lentils left behind because there was just too much. Castiel paused every so often from what he was doing to make notes on this and making his own comments or talking about benefits of lemons or kale or lentils.

He was a freaking walking encyclopaedia, another fact.

Another thing was that he liked feedback. As he was eating, Castiel asked him about how he felt about the schedule on the syllabus, which was what he was looking over this whole time. And hell, Dean was not going to complain about seeing them a week earlier than everyone else or about Castiel's stories, like how when he was learning to write exams and syllabi, his brother would constantly crash the classes to try and "make them more exciting," leaving him mortified at having to explain that he had no idea Gabriel would do that, even if it was in line with his personality.

One of his stories was a little on the scary side because Dean would have no clue how to handle the situation without throwing a few punches. During an evaluation to see if this dude should be checked in, he lunged out of nowhere and started choking the life out of the poor guy and it took about three people to get him off. Yet, the most disturbing part to him was not the potential death, but the fact that he touched him and was so close and Dean did not know what to think about that. He said the dude apologised for it and he was told to do it, Castiel accepted it like it was nothing and holy shit, this guy had such zen, what was he doing in society, he expected someone like this maybe in a cave in a mountain, away from civilisation.

Since he did not talk, Dean sat there and listened, the other picking up responses and he noticed that some people were staring strangely at them. They probably looked like quite a pair, though maybe they were staring at his hands or his face and fuck them for staring in the first place. They were just two guys having a good time.

A good time that was about an hour and a half already and that was beginning to push how long he was alright with being out if it was not for school or work. How the hell Castiel was so good at reading things, he would never know, maybe it was that squinty stare he would do, gave him some sort of power. Squinty stare power or not, he put away all his things and waited for him to do the same before he tossed trash and put the bowl and tray where they belonged then they were outside. The man looked at him with that muted smile of his and Dean should probably smile back.

All he did was blink.

"This was very enjoyable, Dean. I wouldn't mind doing it again sometime."

Dean sniffed.

"I take you have a way to get back home?"

Castiel was pulling something out of his pocket and the second Dean heard the familiar jingle and click of the car keys and the adjoining remote, he stepped back without really meaning to, which was stupid because he was literally standing in the parking lot, there were cars around, they were not moving, fucking deal with it. The professor merely tucked both hands into his pockets, no more noise and he waited for an answer. Fumbling for his back pocket, he pulled out his Clipper Card to show.

"Ah. I've never been on public transportation. Is it efficient?"

How the guy never once, in almost twenty-seven years, _never once_ hopped on a bus or plane or taxi or something seemed impossible. He came from goddamn Illinois, there had to be something he took–a plane, most likely, point still stood–to get here, right? Everyone got on a bus at some point or another, unless they were rich little snobs who had a personal chauffeur and he did not fit the snobbish part.

Freaking weird, dorky little guy.

He pursed his lips together and the other nodded in understanding.

"That's unfortunate it's not always so. Perhaps one day we'll have teleportation devices, Gabriel is expecting Apple to somehow steal the technology from someone and turn it into iTeleport."

Gabriel was just plain weird.

Castiel said his goodbyes and he watched his student walk away, remained in place until he could no longer see him and only then did he remove his hands from his pockets, bringing his keys along. Examining them, he turned them over and frowned slightly.

It would be foolish not to remember what happened the last quarter, he had not seen the entire thing, he was barely exiting the elevator when he heard students chattering and gathering. Narrowing his eyes at the time, he saw beyond the crowd as Dean had gone down and that had been his main concern as he rushed over.

"Move! Please, step away!"

Everyone had and someone near him then had mentioned he had suddenly started, he was watching something in the street and then this happened, Castiel was only partly listening because as soon as he tried to get his student's attention, he had latched onto his sleeve with such strength, it threw him off balance a little, covering his mouth and talking him through it was something like a knee jerk response. He did not have some paper bag to hand him, he needed help, it was what he could do.

When he had calmed down and he helped him up, he did finally look towards the streets, seeing the car crash and it was a logical conclusion that the crash had triggered something. But Dean was a student who did not need to get into that, he needed to be removed from the area and given a space to recover in.

It was always something he kept in mind, the same way he kept anything his students said or did in mind. To have that extreme of a reaction to mere keys, however, he did not see coming, never assumed the severity of it, and all he could do to rectify this was place his hands in his pockets. Saying sorry for it seemed counterproductive, it would only make him feel worse about it and what good would that do?

None at all, he could say from experience, so he waited instead.

Fiddling with his keys as he walked to his car–one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve–he considered this as much as he might consider anything else. Then he put it out of mind because it was only a piece of who Dean Winchester was, all in all. He was a very interesting man, from all the times he came into office hours to now and he was a very brilliant person, he saw that in everything he turned in.

Maybe he did not communicate in conventional methods, many people would say, though he was hardly conventional either.

In his car, engine idling as he sat there, he looked at the time then sighed, pulling out and taking to the streets. Something of a successful outing, for something only told a day in advance, he did not even have to take any of his pills. Not that he would either way, driving laws said no medication whilst driving, and if he did not follow the laws, that were meant to keep them safe, then he would no longer be safe and he would crash and burn and die and he was going to get off this train of thought before it became worse.

Hindbrain, midbrain, forebrain.

Some major structures in the hindbrain: medulla, pons, cerebellum.

Midbrain: substantia nigra.

Forebrain: cortex, thalamus, hypothalamus, hippocampus, basal ganglia, limbic system.

A measure can be reliable without being valid.

A measure cannot be valid without being reliable.

Neither infers the measure is accurate.

Repeating these facts and others that were related got him from Panera Bread to his house without thinking about dying. He may or may not have driven the next day, though.

Still counted a success.

\---

This new quarter was _horrible._

Well, not _horrible,_ it was okay, he guessed.

Professor Milton was a good woman and she ended up doing the same thing as Professor Novak, asking for a notetaker, except she did ask him to stay after class and meet the notetaker, which was nine kinds of awkward and whenever she asked him to stay and talk, she would not do it through notes. So, that sucked and got people staring at him, not what he wanted.

Professor Novak was the same as he was last quarter, something he liked. And he also might have been hanging out with him a little more, so what? The guy never poked and prodded at him, he treated him like a normal dude and he respected him like a normal dude.

All he asked for, really.

Sam would make fun of him whenever he went out, always told him to have fun on his dates, that got him nothing but Taylor Swift on a loop on his iPod and gluing his hand to his tumbler when it got old about the sixth time.

He stopped teasing as much.

There was probably going to be some sort of repercussion and he was considering what they were until Professor Novak was finished talking to the group of students that had just finished their pilot test. Being a research methods class, doing a research study was kind of a requirement to it. The professor had given him the option of doing it alone, despite the fact that he was told by his department chair and other professors that it would not be advised to do so and put that workload on one student. And Dean took the option since the guy believed he could, he gave him the opportunity, he would show him he could.

Pilot testing these things was not going to be an easy thing was what he initially thought. Except, just yesterday he had met with the professor at a nearby Carl's Jr.–it was never full, it was a good spot and he never was one to turn down a good burger–and he had told him not to worry about it, as long as he had emailed him everything, it would run as smoothly as everyone else's.

How, when everyone was reading from the script they had, he had no idea until Professor Novak called him up.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Getting up from his seat, he winced at the screech the chair made and made his way to the front, papers in hand and head down. He tried not to attract attention from the others in class, got in right when class started and left as soon as it was done, some did not get the memo and tried to talk to him. They eventually left him alone and settled on staring at him. More annoying than talking, or equally so, because whenever they talked or stared, they were never looking him in the eyes, it was always at the scar on his cheek and one of them was so great of a dick, he asked if it hurt.

Old Dean would have punched him on principle.

New Dean turned and walked away.

New Dean also stood there at the front, eyes downcast and the professor came up to him, as cool and collected like he always was and with that damn smile that he might have been looking forward to seeing, so what?

"Do you have your script with you?"

Setting down the papers, sure to keep them all in neat stacks because if he was respectful of him then he sure as hell was going to be respectful of his desk's orderliness, he held out the script.

"Good. Everything is on the computer already, just let me know when you're ready."

Dean sniffed.

The professor turned to the class and got them to quiet down before looking down at the script.

"Thank you for volunteering for this study. Today, your memory retention when exposed to a specific genre of music will be tested. Before we begin, a consent form will be provided. Please read it over, sign and date the form if you wish to participate then turn it face down."

Azures looked over at him and Dean took the hint, forms in hand and passing them out. The entire pilot went along the same way, the professor read everything and he did all the legwork, passing things out and collecting them, playing the music and stopping it, then people were mentioning what could be improved. Professor Novak took notes on it and said it would be taken into consideration.

His was the last pilot study of the day and everyone was dismissed, he was sure as shit ready to leave. Waiting by the elevator, he was untangling his headphones when he heard his name being called.

"Dean!"

Who the hell?

It was some girl in his class, black hair and blue eyes and that did little to put a name to her, he had to run through all the pilot studies again to figure out her name.

Hael, that was her name.

Not that he was greeting her beyond staring.

"Your study was really interesting, I liked it."

Dean did not move.

"And, I thought it was sweet what Professor Novak did for you since, you know."

So she was one of those people, alright. Those people never got any response from him, nothing, not even a scrunch of his nose, they were not worth the effort. The elevator bell dinged and the doors opened up, so he turned his attention to it and walked in, pressing the button to go down since Hael did not seem to be getting on. Good. She was a douche of a person, he would rather not share the same breathing space as her any more than he had to.

When the doors were about to close, she had to talk again, "Oh, and Dean?"

Dean did not necessarily look at her, he was focused on his headphones and he only just saw her, maybe for the best.

"Keep away from Castiel, he's mine."

That got his head to rise, eyes wide as the doors closed and confused as hell.

_What the fuck?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there's any notes to make here. 
> 
> I've only been in a Panera Bread a handful of times, but I know they have bread bowls and I know I thought it was expensive the first time I saw the prices. I've never had anything from there, I looked at the menu online. 
> 
> What else, let's see… oh, well, they're getting closer now, they get each other on certain levels, so hooray for that. But now Hael is there, so who knows what'll happen.


	5. April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hael is a real pain in the ass for Dean and he can deal with it, he can deal with anything she throws at him, it is nothing compared to what he has been through. Except, when this starts affecting Castiel, he might not have the same tolerance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter, I hope you all like it. There are typos, obviously, and I'll be fixing them as I go along because it's three in the morning again and I still have stuff to do and school in little under five hours, so sorry for any, my iPhone sucks with autocorrect and all that, but I never end up typing the chapters out on anything else;;
> 
> I meant to finish this chapter yesterday and post it up along with the chapter of Your Filthy Soul, but I was excited about being one step closer to graduate school, my brother took me to see Age of Ultron, it was a wild few days. Or, as wild as they can be for me, haha. 
> 
> One of the professors, the one Castiel talks to is actually based off one I had, she was a sweet woman, loved talking to me all about Egypt and her culture, it was fascinating to learn more. 
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Whenever someone decided to say shit–insulting, threatening, and so on–Dean ignored it and walked away. Because, really, why the fuck even bother? It was pointless, it was all pointless, life was pointless, and it was just more time out and about and less time in his room. That was probably unhealthy, the amount of time he spent in his room, most of the time sleeping and if not that, reading the same books over and over or watching reruns and now the addition of schoolwork.

His life, his choices, crappy or not.

The point of it was that Dean never really quite reacted to anything anymore, not even close to like he did before. So, he should have done the same with what Hael told him, ignored it and gone home. And he did go home, he did that.

Ignoring was a little harder this time.

Because what the fuck was that?

From all the times he was approached by other students, no one told him to basically fuck off their claim. What claim Hael thought she had, hell if he knew, or what claim she thought he had. He was close to the guy, sure, for a student, but he was not trying to seduce him or anything. Professor Novak treated him like he was normal, he was somebody and not that he always felt he deserved that, though it made it no less pleasant. And his squinty stare power seemed to get enough of what he might say to things that he laughed at unspoken jokes or responses, or he got things from his expression or whatever that let him carry on a conversation, so they both got something out of it.

That was not some sort of "he's mine" claim, however. It was two guys having a good time, right? He thought it was. Sure, they went out a few times and the professor bought him his meals a few of those times and he was made privy to things about the other most students may not know. Like, around the third time they went out, he learnt that the man was lactose intolerant and he did not eat meat because quite frankly, the amount of hormones and such added terrified the living daylights out of him and he felt sad thinking about the animals being slaughtered.

Or how when he was really amused or found something hilarious, he had this big gummy smile and would bring up his hands to cover his face–at a small distance, he never touched his face with his gloves, maybe he did when he did not wear them, though he had never really seen him without them–as he laughed and it was unnaturally and childishly adorable for someone about to be twenty-seven.

And yeah, maybe he felt a little bad that he could only hang out with him about an hour and a half and would have liked to be able to deal with staying out a little longer and looked forward to it, but that was because they were friends and junk. That was what friends did, yeah? It had been so long since he had anyone around long enough to call a friend, so it was strange, not so long that he did not remember what it was to have a friendship, even if a little different than most things like this.

So, yeah, friends, okay.

As a friend, he should be concerned about this, what this douche of a person meant by saying Castiel–not in class, Professor Novak was for class, made it easier to separate, he had to remember that–was hers. Because if that meant what he thought it did, then she was the one trying to seduce him and that should not be even the least bit funny. Yet it was, to try and picture her trying and failing miserably then it stopped being funny when he thought of how uncomfortable Castiel would be.

Fuck. Okay, he should do something about this. Think, think, fucking brain, work, think of something. First, what did he know about Hael, gather information, everything he might have heard about her in class. She was a freshman in college, first year since high school, so she was around eighteen or nineteen. Her major was psychology, she liked bio psych especially, which could account to her being attracted to Castiel, he was like an endless fucking fountain of information about that in class, Dean had to wonder how so much was retained.

Fuck, off topic.

Okay, what else. She had lots of friends in class, she was doing a study on perception of beauty, she liked asking questions and instigating discussions and none of this was very helpful. Maybe a little, since if she liked talking and was social and stuff, she might be trying to worm her way in using classes and all as an excuse to see Castiel even more outside of school and trying to get him to like her the way she liked him.

This was hurting his head, this kind of fucking drama was something he thought was left behind in middle school, at latest high school. Freaking immature kids, this was stupid, they were all stupid, this was why he hated going out. Not that he hated Castiel, he liked him quite a bit–friends liked friends–it was simply others that were ruining it all.

Breathe, take a deep breath and think, he could figure this out. Maybe New Dean was shit in all possible ways, but the one thing of Old Dean that had partly stayed with him was his problem solving skills, critical thinking, things like that. Not that he applied them as often as before, never had to when not pursing his degree anymore, although having them beat not and trying to figure this out otherwise.

Just like a problem he had to invent a solution for, that was it.

How hard could it be?

\---

Whilst Castiel knew these faculty meetings were mandatory, to determine how the adjunct professors were doing as full time professors pretty much sat there and listened, he really, really wanted out. Two out of five times–he was here almost three years, he kept track every year–these meetings always ended up not going according to the schedule and it had gotten to the point where he no longer looked at what the schedule was for the sake of his sanity, knowing better by now.

In the times that they did not go according to schedule, eighty percent of the time was because of Zachariah complaining about some aspect of his classes. This time, it was about how they somehow were all undermining him by sticking him with the "bad students," something that confused him. There was no such thing as a bad student. Unmotivated, perhaps, or uninterested, that did not mean they were bad. It meant they had not yet found their passion or something may have happened to take away their motivation.

Besides, it seemed terribly convenient of the other to forget that they did not assign students to classes, the students themselves chose what classes to take, they had no real say in it. Sighing quietly as he listened to the older male rant on, he heard nails clicking on the table they were all seated at with papers in front of them and looked over at Sarah, who was grinning and whispering.

"Bored already, Cas?"

"I simply believe we all know this routine. He'll say we are sabotaging him by giving him only night classes, Anael will say he requested them, he'll say something contradicting himself."

"… know why I get stuck with all the night classes!"

"You have asked for all of your classes at night. Repeatedly."

"… Well, it doesn't mean you have to listen!"

Sarah looked entirely amused by this and was biting back laughter at how it played out like he said. Turning his attention away from the older professor fuming, he decided conversation with Sarah was much more stimulating and pleasant, "How are you, teaching again so soon? I know you took more time off with Hope. I'm sure Anael would have been fine with you taking another quarter off." She was always talking about her one year old and now her second daughter, Salwa, and sometimes when she did Castiel had to struggle to keep a polite smile and stay still because spit up and other excretions unsettled–understatement–him despite knowing they were natural. She picked up on that, it was not really a secret amongst his colleagues–friends? He thinks he can call them friends, they called him that, he was always still terrible at telling–and talked about other things the girls did.

"Someone has to bring home the bacon and I can't let Sharif do it alone. Besides, I don't have any classes in the summer, we were thinking of taking Hope and Salwa to Eygpt, visit the family, be pampered endlessly, the usual."

"Ah, do have fun if you go. Maybe you'll pick up more Arabic."

The professor laughed at that and Castiel knew what she thought about that, as well as she could read and understand it spoken to her if at a slower pace, speaking was entirely different.

"Oh, I doubt that. All these years and I still speak like a two year old!"

"Castiel."

Not being able to respond to the female, he looked up at Anael, "Yes?" She did not look upset about his lack of paying attention and talking to another during the meeting. Most of them did stop listening to the complaints, it was nothing new and Castiel believed that Zachariah simply liked to hear his own voice.

"Your research methods class. How is it going?"

"As scheduled. My pilot tests will be done by next class meeting and I'll post the sign up sheets the following day."

"What about your new _pet?"_

Frowning, the professor bit down on his cheeks and clenched his hands. Do not say the first thing to come to mind, do not act on the impulse, it was just another things he could manage. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Breathe in, release, release the violent thoughts, remain in control, everything was fine.

_Stop overreacting, Castiel, you're embarrassing me. **Control** yourself._

Remain in control, he was fine.

 _"Dean_ has done his pilot test and it was without any complications. I said he would be capable of doing this on his own and he has proven such."

"No doubt you helped out."

"We are asked to make accommodations when necessary."

"And you're just-"

"I grow weary of this, why don't we end this meeting now?"

Everyone's attention moved to Uriel who was already gathering his papers to leave and Anael nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I believe that'll be it for this meeting."

Sarah said her goodbye and he was getting up to leave when Zachariah was coming up to him. He really did not want to listen to his snide comments and he was saved when Uriel came up so he had to walk away. Relaxing, he put his papers away and faced the other.

"Thank you, Uriel."

"You need to stand up for yourself, Castiel. Show him you're better than him!"

Castiel gave a small smile at the words and how he lifted his fist for emphasis as he walked with him, Uriel was always insisting that he do something other than be so passive about all of this, constantly being targeted by Zachariah and his rude comments. He imagined it was because he was younger than average when he started teaching here, was given one of the classes he usually taught and turned out a much higher yield of passing grades, he must have never gotten over that since he thought him too fresh and a potential risk to be teaching students around his age.

"Perhaps one day. At the moment, I'd rather not risk my job for the sake of giving him a piece of my mind."

"I await that day, as do many others."

"I'm sure you do. But, before I forget, you are going to WPA, yes?"

"I am. Who else will make sure to remind you that you need sleep?"

He gave a sheepish smile at that, remembering how the first time he went, he was so excited and did not want to miss a thing, on top of grading and all, Uriel had been the one to convince him grading could wait for the sake of sleep.

"I suppose that's true. And I'll have to keep you from insulting anyone too much," the other always left down the stairs at this point, to get to the parking lot, eager to get home, no doubt, "I'll see you tomorrow. Give my best to Rafaela."

Dismissing himself, he turned the corner only to step back when he was face to face with one of his students, eyes wide at the proximity. He disliked corners because of this and tried to shake it off to offer a greeting.

"Hael. What can I do for you?"

Hael was one of his usuals for office hours, she always seemed to be able to fit in at least one day in the week to talk to him. A pleasant girl, dedicated to pursing her path and Castiel was happy to help her out however he could, it never bothered him any when students asked for help with anything.

"Since you said you'd be back around this time, I thought I'd wait. To know my test score and all."

"I apologise for the wait then, did you remain on campus this whole time?"

Reaching his office, he unlocked the door and let her in, she took the seat as she always did and talked, he felt her eyes on him the whole time as she did and he sat down. She liked eye contact, he picked up on.

"I was. I don't know as many places around as you do, so I played it safe."

"That's right. You live about an hour away, you said?"

"I do."

That would defeat the point of going home and the least he could do was hurry with her exam, she must want to get home. Her exam was not hard to find, he filed them alphabetically and it was in the half that was completed.

"You did very well, as always."

In every class he had her in, she would always end up with more credit than she knew what to do with. He supposed that she liked the reassurance that she was doing well, she was always recording everything. The professor liked to believe he helped her out, she used to be somewhat disorganised when she first took his class, always stressed about due dates and how to get everything in place with different classes every day.

"It's because I've had such a great professor."

Castiel smiled slightly, ducking his head a little as he twisted his fingers, unsure of what to ever do with this praise. He heard it from a lot of his students and other fellow professors told him he was exceptional at his job, though Hael would never break eye contact with him and sounded so incredibly genuine and something else he could not place, it threw him off.

"Yes, well, I'm only a small part of it."

"Not to me. So, how about a celebration?"

Another thing she liked was to celebrate whenever she received an A, something of some mystery to him. Then again, he was never quite the social butterfly with how he was raised, he rarely, if ever, was allowed out of the house so maybe this was some custom students had that he never saw for himself. He would ask Gabriel about it, he went to public school before being shipped off to boarding school and even that still had other students around, Castiel never had anyone around.

He could blame Gabriel for that, though he never did, he was just happy he still saw him and was able to talk to him, he was the only positive thing in his day for a long time.

So, socialising, a little late in doing so, but he managed it, more or less.

"Of course. Where would you like to go?"

It was her celebration, she should choose, that was how it went, he was certain. And, since she lived farther away than he did, it was polite to see where she might like to go for this.

"How about Starbucks?"

… In a way, he should have seen that coming and that made it no less unsettling.

"Sounds lovely."

The Starbucks she chose was always so busy, blenders of there whirring to make frappunccinos or simply of people talking, though the most unsettling thing was actually seeing the workers making the drinks and such. It was a difficult thing to explain, why it bothered him so much, maybe because he would do it differently, cleaning and preparing and such. He tried to tell himself they were trained, they learnt how to do these things and that should get enough, but it was not.

Maybe if he faced away, it would not nag him as strongly.

Or maybe she would chose the one closer by, it was usually less packed during the times he was done with classes.

Hael smiled brightly and gathered her stuff, "Great! It's a date! See you then!" And she left her professor utterly baffled, eyes wide and struggling to get out a goodbye in time.

He… never thought it was?

Maybe it was just another one of those customs students had, he sometimes felt awfully disconnected when considering that he was not that older than them most times, like he had been asleep all these years and suddenly woke up with no clue what anything was.

Disconcerting.

"Hey, bro. You okay?"

Eyes darting up, he saw Gabriel leaning against the doorjamb, nodding to his hands. Oh, he was trying to pick at his skin through the gloves, that was unfortunate, very much so, he should get a grip, control himself and he did by folding his hands together.

"Yes, fine. Just a student said something and I'm… confused."

"Not that Dean guy, is it? You talk enough about him already."

Castiel wrinkled his nose at the suggestive tone, having been with Gabriel long enough to know him very well. He did not talk about him a lot. At least, he did not think he did, maybe as much as any other student he had that he spent time with outside of class.

"Dean is an interesting person is all. But, no, it wasn't anything he told me. It was Hael. She said 'it's a date,' I don't understand. That implicates romantic undertones, how is this romantic, she does this whenever she gets a high grade. I don't think of her like-why are you laughing?"

His confusion increased ten fold at how his brother was trying–and failing miserably–to hold in his laughter, looking oh so very amused at what he was saying and it really was not that funny, he thought, it was something he genuinely did not understand.

"Jesus Christ, Cas, you really don't see it? Think back, like Daphne Allen back, how'd she approach you?"

The main thing he remembered about Daphne Allen was spilling his drink and panicking being the last contact they had. A drink, though, she liked going out to have drinks. Any kind of drinks, really, Castiel often brought along his own but he remembered her affinity for trying new drinks, always going out and…

_"… Oh."_

"There you go."

"But… I don't think of her that way. She can't be thinking that, can she? The problems that tend to come from student-professor relationships alone should tell her I'm not worth the effort. I can't even…"

Even if Castiel did ever feel that way about her, he would never be able give her what a normal relationship was, never hold her hand, never just hold her, never give her a kiss, never even be physically close to her, none of that and all of that was important to a majority of people. And, not that he felt that defined a relationship of any sort, be it romantic or otherwise, though he would like to at least be able to do it when he wanted. A little contradictory of him to not actively seek out help for it and settle with he saw clients and helped them, it should not be that difficult to apply the concepts to himself.

"Don't worry so much about it. Probably a crush that'll go away when she's out of your class. Now come on, I'm hungry, work is done for the day, let's jet."

Gabriel knew more about these kind of things than he did, so he believed him and put it out of mind, instead talking to him about what they should have to eat today and rolling his eyes at the outrageous suggestions he had.

It was out of mind for all of three weeks.

\---

When Dean thought, "How hard could it be," he did not want the universe to shift in a way that actually made it the hardest fucking thing that ever was and ever would be. It was like the moment Hael said what she did, some dormant function of his brain activated and he could see every single damn thing that drove him up the fucking wall because this little brat was not conducting herself appropriately, it was ridiculous how no one ever said anything.

And the bigger dick of a thing was that he was not in freaking high school, who in the fuck thought it so possibly acceptable to be this immature in one of the highest level of psychology classes offered here? This bitch apparently did because not only was she inappropriate, she was also keen on making his day a living fucking hell however she could and what the fuck, he was twenty-five, she was like nineteen, could this be any more stupid?

Dean might have called himself a cripple and plenty of other negative shit and he never really used that to get his way, though that phrase, "You wouldn't hit a cripple," came to mind the next class meeting when he was walking up to the front and she, honest to God, deliberately pushed her bag out and it snagged on his bad leg. He might have actually tripped and fallen had the professor not been there, thinking quick and using the tote bag he was holding to balance him out. He never touched him, he still remained at a distance with the tote bag the only thing pressed against him for support and he still looked so sincerely concerned, Dean only sniffed when he asked if he was okay.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't realise my bag was out!"

Yeah, keep lying, it would come around soon.

And it was other stupid, petty shit, really. Like taking the elevator so he had to wait an extra few minutes, that made him oh so distraught, the freaking horror. Or making derogatory comments in such a way that made it seem like he was some sort of mentally challenged guy, his poor, poor feelings, this girl's opinion on him that he hardly knew was his world, whatever shall he do now that he knows she does not like him.

He figured he could deal with this pitiful girl and her harassment, she was not saying anything that was even scratching the surface of what he had thrown his way before and it only gave him more incentive to expose her for the freaking harpy she was. The professor seemed unaware of her flirtations and more often than not had that puzzled expression of his, head tilted and eyes squinted, before misinterpreting and missing the point entirely.

That was good, in some respects, meant that she would not get very far. Then it was bad because what if she just said fuck it one day and made a move on him, everything else be damned? She seemed like the pushy kind, like the kind that would not take no for an answer and any answer besides what she was expecting was a no. But the times he hung out with Castiel, he did not seem bothered and Hael never went too far. Mostly talk, that was all she was.

He was still on the lookout, though, still listened and observed. Old Dean might have called her right out on it and told the professor to deal with it before it got worse, rip the Bandaid right off, quick and clean. Hot headed and without thinking much of what that could cause and well, that recklessness was kind of part of the reason New Dean existed, so not going that route was logical. That only brought more problems and pain and suffering and it was fucking poison, he was poison, toxic. So he thought, he planned, he did all of that instead.

At least, he liked to think he did.

This class session was going a little slow, which may be attributed to him having forgotten his book and the study guide required the book for about a third of it, leaving him sitting there, bored out of his mind. The lab was already completed though and the professor asked them to complete the study guide if they finished early, so here he was, almost finished and not quite because his stupid ass forgot his book.

"Dean. Do you need the book?"

Of course he could only hide it so long from Professor Novak and he spared him a glance, not wanting to answer and let him know his screw up. After a beat, he shifted his papers so he could see the answer for himself and the professor gave them a once over before nodding, excusing himself.

Disappointed, most likely, he had done well so far. Except, he came back and set down the book he needed right in front of him with that damn little muted smile of his that he returned with a blink. And that was it, he left and continued walking around, helping other students when they needed it. The one thing Hael lacked was subtlety when it came to him, she might as well have been calling him out as loud as she could when she turned around and glared.

If he were different, he might have grinned at her just to piss her off.

Rather than do so, he kept working until class was over.

Packing up his things, he was exiting the elevator when he realised he had not given back the book and sighed as he punched the button to go back up. A glance was spared at where he was usually picked up, Samandriel was a good kid, he would wait the little extra time it took him to give it back and go back down.

This would be quick.

\---

Gabriel was very wrong about this.

"… think we should try."

He was very, very wrong and Castiel had no clue what to do about it. Any response was going to end up being wrong somehow and he was purposely putting more distance between them as they walked to his office. She was following most likely to get his answer and that was causing his stomach to clench, anxiety bubbling up.

Now she was standing in front of his door and she was saying something, all Castiel could think of was she had to get out of his way, he could just…

No. No, no, no. Control, that was it, control, hold his breath, release it and the violent thoughts, control.

_Try not to embarrass me, Castiel._

"I… I am flattered, Hael, truly."

"Is that a yes?"

Please stop this.

The professor stepped back as she got closer, too close, much too close, he could just–no, that was wrong, control, breathe. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Control, talk, words, release the violent thoughts.

_Stop being ridiculous, Castiel. You don't know what you're saying._

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.

Stand up for himself, that was what he had to do.

"I… you know that I am willing to help you or any of my students out in any way I can."

"Yes?"

"But this… I can't…"

Castiel hated to crush her hopes this way, but it would be wrong to stay quiet. And he saw the confusion and sting of rejection, though the switch from that to rage startled him almost as much as her getting into his personal space, grazing his arm, and being in one of the offices at the end of the hall never seemed as unfortunate as it did now. Breath caught in throat, heart thumping in his chest, pounding in his ears, body curling into itself, hands over his heart, too fast, too hard, too much, he felt his breath growing shorter and she was saying something, what was she saying, what was she doing, get away, stop, stop, _stopitstopitstopit–_

_Stop **overreacting,** Castiel. _

_**Don't embarrass me.** _

Hael was suddenly pulled back and someone else was standing in front of him, back facing him, not that he would realise this, wheezing desperately for air he was so certain he was not getting. However, Dean was perfectly clear on what he was doing, standing in between the two and scowling at the female, fists clenched and growl rumbling up his throat. How fucking dare this bitch, who the fuck did she think she was, did she not care what she was doing to him, could she not see she was making him far more than uncomfortable.

"You ruined it!"

There was plenty ruined and he had nothing to do it, that was all her. And he did not even bother with her any longer, turning to Castiel and getting down to his knees in front of him, unsure how to help him. Touching was going to make it worse and there was only one thing he could do, reaching in to pull out his iPod and playing a song that always calmed him down.

_"Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."_

The iPod was placed next to him and Dean sat cross legged across from him, thumping his tumbler in time with his heartbeat–those helped, right?–and taking slow, deep breaths as loud as he could for him to hear.

_"Hey Jude, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better."_

Not breaking eye contact with him, Dean waited this out until Castiel managed to follow his breathing and seemed to compose himself. Putting away his tumbler, he sat there, watching the other and tilting his head. The professor looked up, behind him, then back at him and offered a shaky smile.

"Ah… I'm sorry you had to see that, it must have been unpleasant. But, thank you."

Dean blinked.

Castiel rubbed the area over his heart, his other hand reaching to grab the iPod playing beside him and gave it back. Music was not something he normally used to deal with this. It was effective, however, he found it easier to overcome this, somehow, staring at Dean, his eyes were calming, fit along with the music, along with the beat, the time.

Both slowly getting up, Castiel reached into his coat's pocket and pulled out the medication bottle, removing one of his gloves. Even if Dean tried not to look, the plethora of old scars under freshly scabbed over cuts and torn up skin around his nails was not something he could miss as the other took out two pills to swallow dry. It was the first time he actually saw the man's hands and if he was expecting them to be anything, this sure was not it. Not that he would have said anything if he did talk, nor did he think much on it, he was just relieved the guy was breathing right.

When he put his glove back on, Dean remembered the reason he was here in the first place and offered the textbook. Azures stared at it before the other took it, huffing out a breath. Then he thought a beat, really thought about it, and decided.

"If you happen to have time right now, might you indulge me? I'm curious about this new frappunccino at Starbucks."

Dean sniffed.

Castiel smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's there, Dean might or might not be in denial about how he feels. Not because of his sexuality or anything, but something else that might be something he really struggles with.
> 
> Castiel having a panic attack, I kind of switch perspective on purpose because thinking about that too much myself, what exactly triggers them for him, well, I do consider my own well being, so sorry if that bothers anyone. Although, a little more is given away about his past, so that's something. 
> 
> Feel free to leave suggestions of what you'd like to happen, I'll try to fit it in, they're always lovely to hear! :D


	6. May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing about people with a truly corrupt personality, Dean thinks, is that anything they touch, it ends up tainted. It is like a disease. And Castiel deserves better than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, hooray. I don't think there are many notes for this. Typos will be fixed along the way. I was meaning to post a chapter of Your Filthy Soul, but I ended up getting stuck at one point, so that sucked and I moved onto finishing this chapter instead. 
> 
> There are mentions of intrusive thoughts, not super graphic violent ones, but not pleasant either way. Compulsive behaviour, things of that nature. If there are any others that need noting that you see, please feel free to comment.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy! :D

Caramel flan frappunccino.

That… well, that was really something. How did someone get all the individual flavours of a desert into one blended beverage? Dean would think the answer is no one could and for the most part, he was correct. Looking at the drink Castiel set down in front of him as he sat down, he reached for it and spun it around to examine. It was a venti, the professor did not skimp out, and he popped the lid open.

"I asked what it had. They say it's made with caramel flan syrup, the usual other ingredients of a frappuccino, topped with caramel-infused whipped cream and caramel flan sauce," Castiel tilted his head at the drink, squinting at it, "It sounds excessive and trying too hard to replicate the taste, but I suppose I should remain objective."

Dean could try and remain the same way, though that already had him thinking it was going to be much too sweet. No time like the present and he sipped the drink before making a face because yeah, no amount of objectivity was going to keep him from saying that was not too sweet, tooth rotting sweet and he had to wonder who the hell drank this on a consistent basis. The other laughed quietly at his reaction and gave an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it would be that sweet. You can leave it, if you'd like, I don't want to cause some horrible aversion to caramel flan for you because of this."

He blinked in response then leant closer to the drink, poking his tongue out to take some of the whipped cream and sauce to taste. Not as sweet, he guessed, and his eyes flicked up to the other, who looked at the topping and nodded.

"Interesting how the less sweet is on top, which means it's more likely to be consumed last. Hm, perhaps if an espresso shot is added, it would balance out the sweetness. I could try it with Gabriel, he knows sweets better than anyone. What do you think?"

Spinning the cup on the table as he thought about this, he took another sip and sniffed, finger subtly tapping and freaking squinty stare power, he always knew what he was saying somehow.

"Two it is then."

Dean continued drinking this overly sweet thing because hell, it was there, he bought it for him, shame for it to go to waste, occasionally licking away the whipped cream when he could still reach and not look like a moron shoving his face in the cup. It was something to concentrate on, he thought, other than the throb of his leg. Once they had gone down the elevator, Samandriel was there waiting for him, like he expected and Castiel did eye the tram warily at first, though he hopped on along with him eventually.

The professor seemed almost as happy as he was to get off and brushed himself off. Not that Dean knew what the hell he was brushing off, but whatever, that was just him. This Starbucks was about fifteen minutes away and should not be too full, he said, which it was not. And Dean walked ten minutes to get to the bus stop, what were five more?

A bitch, for one.

But Castiel did not seem to mind how long he took, keeping up a pleasant conversation as he kept his eyes on the street and Dean kept only one earbud in, to avoid any unnecessary traffic noise. Here, in Starbucks, he took it out and was about halfway done with this drink when the professor brought up what happened.

"I truly am sorry you had to see that earlier. It… that's not usual of Hael. I don't know what came over her."

Letting out a huff of air, he watched the other's brow furrow and eyes narrow slightly at that.

"Did you know otherwise? I know she said a few weeks ago about going to Starbucks being a date but I didn't think much on it, Gabriel said it would go away."

Dean stared and Castiel seemed to realise what he said.

"Not-not that I associate Starbucks with dates. It's a very nice establishment, though I would choose a different location if I ever did ask you on a date, which I didn't. It's not that you're not an interesting person, I'm just very bad at what many define as a normal relationship," Dean noticed how he started pinching at the tips of his gloves as he ran his mouth nervously, like he was trying to get the skin and it made a little more sense now how his hand looked, maybe a nervous tic. All he could do was rap his knuckles against the table and blink, shaking his head once. The other glanced at his hands and set them at a distance, smiling.

"Ah, I should… start again. It's just unexpected. I didn't think any of my students felt that way."

That somehow seemed very hard to believe because in all his time in his classes, there were always at least three students in class that made comments that he could hear, both male and female. There also seemed to be an ongoing debate about his sexuality, kind of weird and personal to be talking about their professor's preference and really douche like when it came to some people's reasons since they fell back on stereotypes of gays and straights and bisexuals along with others and their stereotypes he would rather not repeat because they were rude and disrespectful.

It was his personal life, there was no need to try and force it to be public if he did not want to.

Maybe he never heard these conversations or was all polite and humble and shit, never thinking it could be about him. With that, Dean could help out and it was the least he could do. The professor taught him pretty much everything he knew of psychology and plenty more, he could educate him in what his students thought and hope it was enough for him to be able to prevent something like Hael happening again. His phone was pulled out and unlocked, Safari opened up and although his hands were fucked up as they were, he was fairly fast in pulling up Rate My Professor to slide over to him to take, which he did.

"Oh, I've heard about this site, I've never looked at it. Anael and Uriel have told me it can be very-"

He cut off abruptly as his eyes moved across the screen, reading and scrolling down slowly, his expression steadily shifting from neutral to confused to frankly, a little shocked at what was written. At the end, he set the phone back down and cleared his throat.

"That was informative. I had no idea so many thought that way. I suppose past experiences make a lot more sense."

Dean's nose twitched.

"Apparently, my brother was correct on more than one occasion," the man shifted in his seat as his eyes roamed the table, "He also said I'm extremely bad at telling when someone is 'coming onto me.' Although I suspect that's because I was homeschooled, never had the chances others did."

Homeschooled? Never answering what high school he graduated from, was that why? Maybe. What was bad about being homeschooled beat him, but it was one tidbit of information he could return with his own. Another search and his phone was handed over.

"Lawrence High. So you're from Kansas? It must've been quite a change of environment. I know it was from Illinois."

Dean sniffed.

Castiel smiled.

The rest of their conversation diverted from their home states and past education, something Dean appreciated. Castiel thought he was this good as hell guy and he thought everything but personally, yet he did not want to let the guy down. Kind of like Sam, he wanted a not fucked up big brother, wanted to see he could do shit on his own, that was the whole point of going back to school.

Eventually, he would see the real him, how fucked up he was, it would come quicker if he knew his past, and he would leave like everyone else.

What he deserved, he guessed.

When his frappunccino was finished, it had taken quite some time with the conversation and not overloading with sugar all at once, he was already pushing how long he felt alright with being out. And, just as always, the professor knew that and they were out and walking down the street. Pausing at his bus stop, the other waited with him, though he refrained from sitting down at the bench after one look at it. As the bus was approaching, the male shifted his weight.

"Dean. I… thank you. It's not… easy for me," he failed to mention what exactly he was talking about and kept talking, "And… I very much enjoy our time together, I hope you know that," the bus pulled up, doors opening up, "You should go before the bus goes. Have a lovely weekend. I'll see you next Monday."

That was it, Castiel was walking back, hands in his trench coat, and Dean stared until the bus driver asked him if he was getting on.

Huh.

Well, at least he knew the other also enjoyed their time together. Friends liked friends, that was how it went.

Too bad he would never like him if he knew everything about him.

Another fun weekend of self-loathing, oh joy.

\---

Class on Monday should have been normal. Abnormal, bio psych, office hours, go home. Castiel was very dedicated to his schedule, it kept him grounded, safe, the routine of it all allowed him to go about his day without the necessity of all his pills. When he arrived at school, sitting in his car with Gabriel, he did remove his gloves, grab one bottle and take two oblong capsules but the other two were never touched this early.

"You good?"

"Yes."

And then he went about his day. There was abnormal, where they were talking about eating disorders and the film analysis that was due at the end of the week. Then bio psych, where he talked about olfaction neuroanatomical pathways and the project they would turned in next week.

So far, normal.

Hael was in his first class and he initially thought it was going to be awkward, maybe she would still be upset about what happened. Gabriel told him that he could talk to her, set her straight, though that seemed like going overboard. She must have realised that pursuing a relationship was not going to end well, maybe she simply needed to get it out of her system.

On schedule, that was the best it could be.

His office hours were only an hour long today, until Gabriel's last class was over. They usually were able to work out their schedules so they each had office hours whilst the other was still in class or they had them at the same time, although the sociology department had their offices on another floor. A little strange, to him, but it worked out relatively well.

At his mailbox, he pulled out all the papers and envelopes, flipping through them as he made his way to his office. No one made an appointment today, so he could grade these assignments turned in late if no one came by.

"Castiel."

Eyes darting up, the professor halted mid-step when he saw who was standing by his office.

"… Hael. What can I do for you today?"

No matter what happened, she was still his student and if she needed anything for class, he was not going to deny her that, it was not proper conduct.

"Can we talk?"

Nodding, he unlocked the door and let her go in first. Her staring was unnerving now and he tried to ignore it as best he could, sitting down and organising his papers.

"What did you want to discuss?"

"I want you to reconsider."

If there was anything good to be thankful about, it was that at least there was a desk in between them now. So, it was a little easier for him to gather his thoughts and speak them.

"Hael, a relationship between us wouldn't work."

"Is it because you're gay?"

"What?"

Out of all possible reasons that a relationship would not work between them, his sexuality was not really something that was of concern. Honestly, he had trouble trying to determine what he was and it bothered him, yes, but with being unable to be physically close to anyone and as awkward as he was, a relationship was never something he considered a possibility.

"No, I'm not-that's not what I'm trying to say. It simply wouldn't work, I'm not relationship material, I wouldn't be able to give you what you want, there are better people than me. And you're my student, I can't be with any student of mine, that would cause too many problems for them."

It was really not something he thought difficult to grasp. Terrible at relationships, too many problems that he was not worth, those two things alone should be enough for her. Apparently not because she looked angry again and what could he possibly tell her that would get through to her? Never did he think he might ever feel a little relieved that the quarter was almost over, only two more weeks after this one, because Hael had completed all the psychology classes that he was assigned to teach, she would leave him alone then, right?

"If you don't, I'll go to Professor Milton."

Was this common in public schools? Was this what he missed all the way up until he graduated high school? Somehow, that made him the tiniest bit grateful for being homeschooled and that was really saying something.

"I don't see what that'll solve, Hael. Professor Milton is just as aware as I am the complications the relationship you're proposing lead to."

Anael knew what he thought about how relationships and he did not mix well, he liked to think they had a very good friendship outside of work, they went out together from time to time, did things friends do. She would take his side on this matter, any of the professors he spoke to would, and that did not settle his stomach when she narrowed her eyes at him and leant forward, his own gaze briefly flitting down to where his pens and post it's were.

"I'll tell her you harassed me. I'll file a complaint."

Castiel could not help what came to mind and when it did, it terrified him senseless.

_If I stab her, it will go away._

"That's not advisable. It won't end well for you."

_If I stab her, it will go away._

_If I stab her, it will go away_

No, control, it could go away if he controlled himself, if he kept his hands on his lap and did not act on it, if he just focused on anything else, anything at all, just not that.

"Then just give us a chance."

_If I stab her, it will go away._

_If I stab her, it will go away._

_If I stab her, it will go away._

Control. That was it, control, ignore it, make it go away, control.

"I cannot. If that was all you wished to discuss, I ask you please leave and have a good day."

_If I stab her, it will go away._

"You're going to regret this, Castiel."

_**If I stab her, it will go away.** _

The professor waited until she left in a huff to remove his gloves and press his hands against either side of his head, bending forward some and taking deep breaths. Not enough, not nearly enough and he groaned the longer it stayed in there, rattling around, pressing, insistent. He was not a violent man, he could not be, though it was there and what if he acted on it one day, what if he hurt someone, _what if he really was violent,_ what if he hurt someone, was he violent, _he must be violent,_ he had these thoughts, these _horrible_ thoughts.

Go away, they should leave him alone, just please go away, pick at them once, then twice, then _again and again and again_ until it went away, until it was better, until he was better, until the violent thoughts went away, until he was not a violent person, until he was not a danger, _again and again and again._

Only when the skin around his ring and middle fingernails was throbbing and red and bleeding did he stop and slide down his hands from where they met linked behind his head and stare, back aching from how long he had stayed bent over doing this and it was not all gone, though enough that he felt safe enough to think without being scared of what would come. Straightening up, he glanced at the time and noticed Gabriel should be coming up right about now. This fact should not have gotten him as worked up as it did. However, he really wanted to appear as if he was improving to his brother, not worry him as often and that was out the window when he saw him enter. First thing he looked at, as expected, were his exposed hands and rather than comment on them, he sat down and reached into his bag for his kit.

Castiel hated letting Gabriel down.

"… Sorry. I'm sorry. I can't-"

"It's okay. You think after living with you, listening to you go on about your thesis and then your classes, I don't get at least some of it? Give me some credit, Cas."

Gabriel gestured to his hand and he held it out, allowing him to spray the antiseptic on it, "Do I need to kick some hooligan's ass? Or put a pin on their seat? I think I'll vary depending what they did." As his brother was opening up the bandaid, he fidgeted in his seat some, keeping his hand out.

"It was Hael. She came by again and when I told her no, she threatened to report me for harassment and I thought…" By this point, Gabriel had stopped what he was doing and Castiel was uncomfortable for many reasons, like saying what he thought. It was supposed to help, though, and his brother never judged so he continued, "I thought, 'If I stab her, it will go away,' and I can… I can still hear her in my head every time this happens, 'Stop overreacting, Castiel, you're embarrassing me. _Control_ yourself.' It's just… I can't, Gabriel. I can't help it. God, _I don't want this anymore,_ brother. The medication and self therapy aren't working, I don't know what else to do."

The other carefully put on one bandaid, certain not to touch and started opening up another, frowning at his little brother's state. He knew it was hard on him, not exactly how hard, but hard enough that it screwed him over a few times and really took a toll on him emotionally. And it was a bitch because he was really not qualified to do any real good, just stand on the sidelines and clean him up and basically be a cheerleader or something to keep him going. Probably would be funnier if he had actual pom-poms. There was little he could do now, it seemed pretty bad, and he was getting far more than miffed at this student for doing this to him. Not because he found it burdensome that he was taking all these steps back, that sucked, yeah. It was more how Castiel was taking it that bothered him, he hated seeing it and hated what small comforts he had to offer.

"Hey, she's not here anymore, okay? She was thickheaded anyway, nobody could get her to change her mind even if they went in themselves to try. And Hael is just an immature brat, she'll get what's coming to her. Anael isn't going to believe her and hell, I'll butt in if I have to."

The second bandaid was put on and Castiel retracted his hand to slip on his gloves, sighing.

"And, I know it's something you want to manage and I know that you're close to all your hours and see clients and you're good at what you do, but… maybe you should think about Pamela's offer? She's been at it longer than you and yeah, she's technically your boss or mentor or whatever, though talking to her and doing that, what'd you call it, ERP and ACT? Doing that isn't going to make her think you any less capable of doing your job."

Every therapist did things differently, that much Gabriel knew, and every therapy session was tailored for the patient, not the other way around. These were facts he knew, so maybe his brother was not as aware of who he was as he thought and was not getting the best results because of that? Whatever it could be, he just wanted him to be happy. And Castiel most likely wanted that, too, he mentioned how he did not like having to switch from one medication to another or the side effects or how this affected his day to day life.

"I'll… think about it."

That almost always meant no and the sociology professor was ninety-five percent certain it did on this occasion. Rather than say anything about it, he smiled as they got their things and left, bumping him lightly with his messenger bag as they started walking. It was the closest he could get to a slap on the back or shoulder checking him and it was enough, had to be, that was kind of an unspoken agreement between them.

Enough of the gloominess, it was getting a little too somber for his taste.

"So, you won't believe what Kali and I did last night…"

 _"Please,_ spare me."

"Not today, little bro."

An improvement, not all better yet, though getting there.

\---

Monday was alright, Dean supposed. He saw Professor Novak in class, he did not look spooked like last week. Class went on like normal, he gave a short wave goodbye to the other, went home, did his homework and ended up sleeping almost the rest of the afternoon until Sam came home and woke him up, telling him to get his lazy ass up and dinner was ready. He ate, watched television with his brother, showered, got ready for bed and fell back asleep.

Story of his life, honestly.

Because Tuesday and Wednesday were the same.

Thursday, well, Thursday was today and the only reason it was a bad day so far was because Hael was in it. As soon as he had gotten into class and sat down, out came his phone and he tapped a few things on it as she came up to him with this fucking little smile that rubbed him the wrong way and straight out told him, "You're going to regret getting in between me and Castiel," not giving a damn that there was a guy sitting right next to him that heard her. Said guy asked what she was talking about and he was a decent dude, never minded him being there or was rude, so he shrugged a shoulder ever so slightly as he tapped his phone again and put it away.

Not everyone had to know what happened.

On the other hand, he did know and flipped his binder open to the last page where few words were written and a few more were added.

 _Hael_  
_"Keep away from Castiel, he's mine."_  
_"You ruined it."_  
_"You're going to regret getting in between me and Castiel."_

 _Cas_  
_"I know she said a few weeks ago about going to Starbucks being a date but I didn't think much on it, Gabriel said it would go away."_  
_"It's just unexpected. I didn't think any of my students felt that way."_  
_"I had no idea so many thought that way."_

Not much, yeah, but Hael did not make her move until recently. Besides, she could try and goody two shoes her way out of what she did, it was not going to work that way because he could not say a damn word all he wanted, that was never going to change, but these were not his words, they were what he heard. Although Dean avoided doing much of anything now, he poisoned what he touched, ruined it, tainted it to the point of no return, Hael was already a fucked up chick, there was nothing he could do that would make her worse. She had a nasty, filthy personality and she picked the wrong guy to mess with. If she wanted to be underhanded in her methods, nothing was going to work on him, it was nothing to him but his everyday life.

And Castiel was a good man, he deserved better than this bratty child throwing a tantrum because she did not get her way. The professor was his friend, friends looked out for one another, so he would do it for him by doing pretty much what he did every day in class.

He listened.

The female was not saying anything about it to any of her little clique or people around her during breaks in class and by this point, he fiddled around with his phone whenever he saw her coming around and as expected, she went on with her cheap little insults and he was perfectly fine waiting for the next time the elevator came down, he had to go get his notes anyway and put his phone away.

"Dean."

Professor Novak was there by the elevator with that little smile of his and Dean blinked.

"Your research paper is going well, I hope?"

Dean nodded once.

"I'm glad to hear that."

The freaking guy was like this pure little ball of kindness and stuff that one would love to put in their pocket to carry around such positivity and all, he got why students would be attracted to him, he really did. A fucking smile from him could lift anyone's spirits and that still did not make it okay, what Hael was doing. Fact was, he was a person, he had feelings and boundaries and everything a human being had and most of all, he deserved respect, he did nothing to warrant someone being so disrespectful towards him.

Fucking people, man, consent was a thing, they should really start seeing that.

"Are you alright?"

Maybe all this was showing on the ride down one floor and as they got out to head to the offices, not something he wanted to be known. The professor did not need to bother with him and his nose twitched. Azures stared at him for a moment, searching for the answer and the man nodded.

"Okay."

It was likely well known between the two of them that he had left it alone, that squinty stare power never failed with him, and he left it alone because unlike some people out there, he respected boundaries. The other had stopped by his mailbox first to pick up anything there was and turning down the hall, Dean noticed he was ready to say something and he was unable to because someone beat him to it.

"Castiel."

Both of them looked over to see the other two standing in front of his office. Professor Milton and the other Professor Novak, Gabriel. The latter looked absolutely pissed, Dean would not be surprised if he Hulked out and punched a hole through the wall to let off some steam. Professor Milton looked troubled, if anything, and torn on even being there.

Not a comforting thing.

"Anael. Gabriel. I wasn't expecting either of you."

"Believe me, baby bro, I would honestly rather be grading essays than needing to be here."

Dude must really hate essays because the man suddenly straightened up even more–Dean never even thought that possible–and clenched his jaw, eyes darting nervously between the two professors.

"What's this about?"

"I think it's better if we go inside your office to talk about it."

The redhead looked at him and okay, he knew when he was not wanted, making to leave when he was addressed.

"I'll give you your notes, first. You'll need them to study."

That said, he unlocked the door and the three went inside, he waited because it seemed a little crowded already and the other eventually came out with his notes. He still looked anxious but also… saddened or something, though not surprised, like he was somehow expecting this to come eventually, like he knew what was going to happen and asking what it was about was nothing more than a formality.

Maybe he was reading into it too much.

"Here are your notes. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

Dean shook his head once.

"Have a wonderful weekend, Dean."

Dean sniffed.

Castiel did not smile back.

It looked like he was trying and failed, giving up on it altogether as he turned back and allowed the door to shut to give some semblance of privacy. Now, he should have left, he had his notes. Except, a look at the time and he saw he still had at least fifteen minutes before Samandriel figured he was simply not leaving right now.

So, he stayed and leant in real close to the door so he could listen.

"… know Cas _isn't_ like that, Anael!"

"I know. He's a dear friend to me and I know him, but I can't bypass policy because of that."

"Gabriel, please, don't be angry at her, she's right and you know it."

A pause.

"… I still say I should've just knocked some sense into that brat when she first came up to you."

"Then the complaint would be against both of us and unlike this one, yours would have been backed up by actual evidence."

Complaint?

"I'm sorry, Castiel. I will do what I can and by the end of the quarter, this should be over."

"I understand."

"So, what, that's it? This girl makes some stupid, ridiculous, never in a million years possible claim that Cas, my little brother who doesn't ever get close to anyone, _that very same Cas_ _sexually harassed_ _her_ and he gets the shit end of the stick?"

"It's our school's policy we must follow and removing her from the classes wasn't agreed upon, since neither have any witnesses on what happened and she was the complainant."

"Jesus, you were here, in the office, weren't you, Cas? There had to be someone else around to see what happened and can go right up to that committee and tell them what happened. If they fess up, then none of this will happen, she'll be out of here."

Well no shit, he was right there, he walked in right when she grabbed him and he freaked the fuck out.

"… No. I was alone with her."

What the fuck?

"Then I'm afraid I can't try and appeal at this time without any witness."

"Anael, come on… there has to be something. Hael is lying, we all know she is. Hell, anyone who knows Cas knows she is."

"I'm sorry. Until this is resolved, Castiel is suspended without pay, that was the final decision."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Castiel. I mean, false claim, but it doesn't suck any less. This has a point to it, I'm certain it does, it'll be something like a big step between Dean and Castiel when it's over with. Dean's already doing what he can, what he thinks is safe enough to do that he won't screw everything up monumentally like he thinks he always does. And Castiel has a fairly good reason for denying anyone was there with him, which will play into the development soon enough. 
> 
> Isn't Hael just the worst, though? She was pretty bad when it came to trying to get Castiel to say yes in the show, threatened to tell all the angels where he was, so that translated into telling his superiors at work he did something horrible. I looked through a few different college and university's policies for this to get an idea of what to do and then I guess artistic liberties, haha. 
> 
> I haven't tried that particular frappuccino, but I was told it was unbelievably sweet. Not around now, they were seasonal, though it fit their timeline.


	7. June

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has lived three years in a way that has taught him that whenever pieces of who he truly was were exposed, people think him broken, ruined and are better off staying away from him. And he believes the same thing, though he really would like to keep that from Castiel as long as possible. But when push comes to shove, he ends up making a choice that might just put that in jeopardy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already had a little bit of this done when I posted the last chapter, so I figured why not, just finish it and post it. I might not post in a few days for this story, I really need to finish the next chapter of Your Filthy Soul before the idea slips away. This chapter is a little longer than usual, but there was no real good place to split it up, I thought, it all just flowed together and it's a bit of dialogue, which will make sense as it goes along. 
> 
> I don't think there are many notes or warning to put here. Some sad stuff, demeaning words and disregard of mental illness, implications of an abusive parent, I'll add anything if I find it as I read or if you feel I should, please feel free to comment. 
> 
> So, enjoy! :D

"What the hell, Cas?"

"Gabriel, please…"

Gabriel had waited until they were back at home to say anything. After Anael said what she needed to and left, they had both been sitting there and he kept an eye on his brother that seemed to be breathing evenly, though that could change at any given moment. And between having him panicking on him or seeing him slowly, wordlessly reach for not one, but both of his medication bottles that were only grabbed at the same time if it was super bad, the professor could really not tell someone what worried him more.

Usually, it was always Castiel driving them home, he drove them here, that was their routine and unless it was really bad, that was how it stayed. Even when it changed, at least his brother said something, anything, not just silently place the keys on his desk as he picked up his stuff to go. So, yeah, concern was kind of obvious. The whole ride was silent, in which he had time to think and he thought long and hard about it all then he ended up being a little angry. And frustrated. And plain confused.

But, it mostly looked and sounded like anger.

And it was stupid because he knew that Castiel's medication had kicked in on the way home, so all his reactions and thoughts were blunted, the dosages were strong enough on their own and combined, well, that went without saying. Now, Gabriel was almost entirely certain he should not be mixing one anti-anxiety medication with another, it was not the same as taking the anti-depressants in the morning with an anti-anxiety pill, though rare was the time his brother did it, he could count the times on one hand.

Castiel had said something about how long their effects lasted, they were stronger, it was easier that way, other medical sounding stuff and he had still been worried about what the pills might do, to the point where he forced Castiel to drag him along to see his psychiatrist, who did their best to explain and okay, side effects really sucked, not recommended for consistent use because of their addictive nature, but his brother would not feel like he was dying from a panic attack or have this anxiety all the time.

So, he got it, he knew that Castiel was not entirely Castiel right now, he was firing at maybe all of half cylinders and fuck that, he still wanted answers.

"No, not this time. So, I'm asking again, _what the hell?_ Why didn't you say anything?"

The other was sitting on their couch after setting his trench coat away, head tilted back and eyes closed, which he thought was probably because he might not be able to keep them open.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know damn well what I'm talking about! You lied, Cas. We may not have seen each other as often as we should have growing up, but you still haven't changed a damn bit when you lie. Someone was there with you."

Castiel allowed his eyes to open up halfway, looking at his brother then sighing and closing them again.

"Whether or not someone was there is irrelevant. Hael's accusation is false and whatever committee Human Resources comes up with is going to see that."

"You know they're hardasses when it comes to sexual harassment complaints, even without evidence, they're already leaning towards believing that brat."

"Then I'll give them reason not to believe it. Policy states they gather evidence, I'll… provide them with a copy of my medical record and notes made by my psychiatrist, it's rather obvious I _can't_ come within a foot of anyone I hardly know and even if I do know them, _I still can't._ Aren't you proof of that, brother? Almost _twenty-seven years_ and I can't even give you a pat on the back, the thought is revolting, just can't do it, it's _disgusting, dirty, filthy, can't do it."_

Gabriel knew Castiel was not meaning to be a dick, despite how he might think it was if it was anyone else. Except, with him, there was no bite to it, none at all, he just sounded utterly dejected and disappointed in himself, like he was ready to fucking cry but even that was something he could not do because excretions from the body were something that unsettled him, no matter what they were and it was times like these that he really had to applaud how strong his brother was. Because Gabriel could not imagine going about his life with unwanted thoughts and fears about something as simple as crying or peeing or anything anyone else would do and maybe find some of it a bitch to deal with, not close to how Castiel did. Yeah, he adjusted his own ways to a certain degree to accommodate, to make the environment less anxiety provoking, though he could still go to the bathroom or touch the flowers in their small garden or eat without concern of what the fuck was in his food, was it going to kill him.

So, he sighed and sat on the opposite side of the couch, one cushion apart like they always did and wow, that hurt a little–a lot, actually–more than it usually did to see that space between them that had always been there, and all he could do to try and make it go away was place his hand on it, right at the middle.

Though he knew Castiel was never going to do the same.

Like he said, twenty-seven years, not a touch without freaking out.

"But what if Hael still goes after you by spreading lies to your students? That would screw with your reputation as a professor, you're not going to go beyond being an adjunct professor, you know that dick Zachariah will use it against you."

"I don't believe she will risk being exposed, if it's shown she falsely filed a complaint. If Zachariah does try anything, Anael will be there. He doesn't have tenure yet, he can't risk causing too many problems."

The professor was not convinced and he still wanted to know who was around that Castiel was not telling him about, although he bet he knew who it might have been. Though the poor kid, he was all mellowed out by drugs which he knew were going to fade, he essentially lost his job for now, and had a lot of stuff in his head he knew he was not telling him, all of which added up to a very bad result that was to come.

"I'm going to go make some tea."

And, same as always, all he could do was help from the sidelines as best he could.

He was really going to look forward to Hael getting her just deserts.

Once Gabriel left to the kitchen, Castiel opened his eyes again and allowed his gaze to travel down to the cushion. His hand was slow in reaching out towards it, pausing right over the spot where the other's hand once was, fingers flexing. If he imagined, if he could without panicking, this was how it would be, where his hand would be on top of his brother's and he could reassure him.

Hand clenching into a fist, he took in a shaky breath, it shuddering out as he grit his teeth. If he had better control, he would be able to do it. If he actually progressed in therapy, he would be able to do it.

_**You disappoint me, Castiel.** _

_**You're not even trying.** Stop being so ridiculous._

_**I'm so ashamed of you,** I can't ever take you out anywhere._

_**It's all in your head, Castiel.** Stop acting crazy._

_**Why can't you be normal?** Why do you have to act so crazy all the time?_

_**I can't believe you're my son,** I didn't raise you to be crazy._

A choked noise lodged itself in his throat and he clenched his eyes shut, taking in large gulps of air and counting in his head, trying to make it go away until the medication fully kicked in. As he did, with every even number recited, his hand unclenched and lowered itself until he finally got to fifty, hand flat on the cushion and breath held.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven-

_How disgusting, Castiel. Do you want to get sick and **die?**_

His hand recoiled away from the spot, fingers twitching and he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. One day, he would get to twelve. And then he could eventually take the next step, then he would be able to do it without his gloves. Then the next step, and the next and not go wash his hands, he would be able to do this, he would be able to do more.

"I'm so sorry, Gabriel…"

But today was not that day.

\---

Dean could not believe it.

Actually, the shit thing was he could. He could believe that Hael would stoop that low and do that. The thing he was having trouble wrapping his head around was that Castiel would knowingly deny that he was ever there. He was the one that pulled that harpy away, that helped him get over his panic attack, they went to freaking Starbucks right after.

Because, really, what the fuck was that?

If he had just said yes, Dean was right there, he might not have ended up suspended. He would not be prohibited from teaching his classes, Dean would not have had to walk into his bio psych class to see a different professor there and hear him give some excuse he knew was not the real reason.

"My name is Uriel, Professor Novak is out sick for the remainder of the quarter and has entrusted this class along with one of his others to me."

This professor, he remembered seeing his name on the schedule, and at any other time, Dean would be amused at the fact that his last name was Wisdom and he was a professor. Like, how fitting was that? At that moment, unfortunately, he was just pissed about the whole thing and trying to figure out what to do and why did Castiel not say anything?

He was right there.

Did Castiel think he could not do it?

It was not like him, from what he saw, to think anyone incapable of doing anything. He never looked like he thought Dean was stupid, he encouraged him and said he was smart and nice shit. Maybe he just did not trust him, thought he was not up to it, maybe he was starting to see how fucked up he was.

Really bad time, man.

He ended up sleeping more than usual that day and the next, with Sam not prodding like normal about getting up and doing something. Sam was good at telling when something was bothering his brother, to a very impressive degree considering a lot of people might say that Dean really did not look to be acting any different than any other time. But, he knew. He knew when Dean wanted to be left alone more than usual, when he was frustrated at something or someone, when it was a good day where he might gesture more often, be more alive in movements or when it was a bad day where every single one of his movements was angry and stiff, practically screaming to stay away.

Subtle things that spoke volumes.

Ever since he got home from school on Thursday, he had been like this and it was getting progressively worse. Sam had no idea what to do. It was not like he could sit him down and say, "Talk to me," because Dean never would the way he needed him to so he could fully understand. And he tried to pay extra close attention to what he did, to see if something might give and he could offer some help. With Dean sleeping all the time, or going to work the time he was not, his need to study for finals coming up, there was little he could observe that was useful.

Sam already felt pretty useless, this was really driving the point home.

Another thing that did this somewhat cloudy Wednesday morning was being on opposite sides of the street, waiting for their buses. Dean's came first, taking off in one direction and about three minutes later, his arrived and went off the other direction.

Great comparison, shitty implications.

Deal also knew he was probably being a douche about this, cutting his little brother off the way he did from the feeble little connection they did have, the frailty of it being his fault in the first place. It was just he was mad. More than that, he was upset. Upset with Castiel for choosing the worst time to see him for who he was, this broken, fucked up guy. Upset at himself for being said broken, fucked up guy because he could never fucking help anyone, he only broke what he touched, tainted it, ruined it beyond comprehension.

Although, he was not upset at Hael, oh no.

He was absolutely fucking furious with her.

Such a raw emotion like that was no longer commonplace with him. After what had happened three years ago, following his panic about his leg and anger about what they had told him, it was like they had all been sucked away and he was left numb, nothing more than a void inside him. Everything was sucked in and never saw the light of day. And that was good, it really was. Old Dean, well, Old Dean never really had a handle on himself. Hid behind cockiness and an assertive personality, like he knew where he was going, what his life was, what his purpose was, like he knew who he was.

And when that did not work, booze sure did the trick.

Anything was better than facing what he really was.

With that void of his, New Dean never had to deal with that. Yet, somehow, this one chick and what she did to Castiel, to this gentle, compassionate guy that even knowing she was pretty much blackmailing him, never said one bad thing about her and took the consequences in stride, it created this rage so freaking tangible, it managed to act like a cork for the void and he felt now and it was a bitch.

He saw her yesterday in research methods and she insulted him, was generally a prick to him and none of that made him want to slam her fucking face into the table again and again and again until her face was bleeding and broken beyond repair and even then keep going, he could handle her slander towards him. What did was when Uriel gave the same excuse and she had the fucking gall to ask if he was alright with some sickly sweet concern like she was not the reason he was gone.

Naturally, a person would be scared to know they had these kind of thoughts, think they had something wrong with them. Thing was, Dean never did think that way back then and more often than not, he did reckless shit that did not end well for a lot of people. Thus, dad's stellar method of breaking down how much of a horrible person he was or maybe his being a horrible person came from what dad said.

Who knew.

It caused a lot of problems for him, in the end, like something he never could find a cure to. Alcohol and a façade only did so much, he still knew he was broken, beyond saving.

New Dean… he was kind of like a less broken in some ways but more broken in others version, he guessed. Never needed the alcohol or anything, but had the void in him.

Little strange not to have it now.

Thinking about all this made his head hurt, though it distracted him enough from his anger that he did not blindly fly off the handle. By the same token, it distracted him enough that bio psych flew by and he had no freaking clue what the hell Uriel had taught this session. The notes would have to be good enough, it did not feel the same when it was not Castiel up there talking, sound childishly excited about all of this and being so animated yet still managing to remain professional in some weirdly balanced way.

"Psst!"

Dean was walking down the hall when he heard the rather loud exclamation, brushing it off because he had heard a lot of strange things in his years at KU and months here.

"Psst! Dean! Hey, Winchester!"

That did make him stop and turn around, eyes narrowed suspiciously and tracing the sound to one of the rooms to his left. Where it came from, Professor Novak–Gabriel–was standing there, waving him over and disappearing inside. Dean went along with it, stepping inside the room and closing the door behind him, eyes roaming the interior. Not really different from the psychology classes, a little roomier was all, though he was staring at the other, waiting for an explanation.

"So, I'll cut right to the chase."

Dean did nothing. Probably a good guy, if he was anything like Castiel. Still, he did not know him, he would not get anything.

"I know you were with Cas that day and for whatever reason he has, he said you weren't. I know he's depressed as all hell because of this and I can't do anything more to help him out. I also know he likes you and I really couldn't care less about the details of what degree of like right now, all I care about is your answer. Will you help me help Cas?"

Dean stared.

One beat passed.

Gabriel stared.

Good intentions, not one of those people.

Dean nodded once.

"Good. Now, you guys go out to places, so invite him out somewhere, get him out of the goddamn house. Hell, I'd be satisfied with out of his room," the professor reached into his bag and pulled out a tumbler in a plastic ziplock bag, along with a small folded paper and a packet of something. A look at the matte black finish and Starbucks written along its side and he knew it was Castiel's, the one he always carried around–never saw the guy without it since the first day he met him–and it was being handed over, "I'm trusting you with this. He needs a freaking drink to cheer him up. Instructions are in there, follow them exactly and it's most likely he'll drink it."

Dean took the bag, examined the contents then looked at the other.

"And I'm going to trust that you have something planned for when the time comes. It had better be good and put that brat in her place."

Dean only nodded once more then turned to leave.

The bag was not opened up until he was home and he had rummaged around the apartment to find the little box of disposable gloves they had lying around to put on a pair. It was only then that he finally unzipped the bag, pulled out the tumbler and the note. Simple steps, he supposed, about what to use, what temperature to boil the water, how long to steep and one last instruction that was not really instruction.

_Don't fuck this up, it's his favourite!_

Setting the note in the bag, it was exchanged for the packet.

Chai tea. Okay.

There were instructions, there was no possible way he could fuck it up. All of it went back into the bag before he zipped it up and tossed out the gloves. This was not worth jack if Castiel did not agree to go out. Phone out, he located that same Starbucks from before and went to his alarm clock, falling into the same routine of taking screenshots and sending them. Unlike how the routine normally played out, he did not get a response right away.

Three hours later, vibrations from his phone woke him up and blearily staring at the screen, he saw the pictures sent back.

There was no smiley face until fifteen minutes later.

He would definitely not have to fuck up the tea.

So, Friday, okay. That only meant he had to sleep the rest of Wednesday away and now get through Thursday.

Thursday was a bitch mostly because that cork was still in there and Hael was there, not a good combination. For this to work, he kept writing down everything Hael said to him and sat in class and listened to Uriel lecture. Then he walked to the elevator extra slow as he tapped away on his phone.

One, two-

A shove right on time.

He allowed himself to be pushed into the wall right next to the button for the elevator, unsurprised that Hael was the one who knocked into him.

"I told you that you shouldn't have gotten in between us. Guy like you, don't talk, don't do anything but _take up space,_ you don't deserve Castiel. So, _back off_ and I'll tell them it wasn't real. I'll retract the complaint and he'll have his job. You tell Castiel that, too. I know you see him."

And he stayed leaning against the wall as she went into the elevator, tap, tap, tapping away at his phone once she was gone and waiting for the next time it came up.

Dean realised not too long after his first assessment of Hael that he was only partly correct. Not that she did not have a nasty, filthy personality, all of that was true. Just, she was more like a stubborn little infection that polluted the system for awhile, not permanent, never like that. And anything she threw at Dean was not going to affect him, that was true, too. Thing was, he was incorrect in believing there was nothing he could do to make her worse, make it worse for her.

Because Dean? Never mattered if he was Old Dean or New Dean, he still was poison, still managed to get a bad thing and make it worse if he got his hands on it, ruin lives if he held on too long. And he would always distance himself in one way or another because of that, call it fear of commitment, alcohol dependence, being a dick, mute, whatever the hell one wanted to call it, he would stay away to make sure he did not corrupt.

But in this case?

Well, he could find it in himself to like the disease.

\---

Castiel was almost one hundred percent certain this was Gabriel's doing because not long before he received the texts from Dean, his brother had been insisting he get out of the house or at least join him in the living room. He never did and he even ended up calling Pamela to let her know he could not make it in.

It was just too difficult.

His routine was falling apart, everything felt like it was too much, he could not separate it all from each other and it was like he knew the moment he saw Anael and Gabriel that afternoon that it was only going to go downhill from there.

But, those were his own issues to deal with and he would rather not trouble Dean with them. So, he shaved and dressed himself presentably as he always did and drove to Starbucks to get there fifteen minutes early.

What came as a surprise was that Dean was already there, waiting at a table.

The other simply looked up and nodded to the seat, which he took once his student had glanced down at a neatly folded up wipe he then trashed as it served it purpose. As he sat, he reached in for something that the professor instantly recognised and he also saw the man was wearing disposable gloves as he pulled his tumbler out of the ziplock bag to place in front of him along with a small note. Unfolding the note to read it over, his suspicions of Gabriel's involvement were correct and now Dean was handing over his phone, opened up to a video with the preview looking like a kitchen.

Azures watched the other for a moment before he nodded and allowed the video to play, unable to help the smile that tugged at his lips as the video progressed. The angle was a little awkward, like Dean had tried to tuck his phone in the pocket of what Castiel assumed to be the same flannel he was wearing now from the glimpses of the rolled up sleeves he had, but he had ended up recording everything he had done, from the moment he washed his hands and took the tumbler out to when he put the top back on when the tea was steeped and back in the bag it went.

"Dean…"

No one outside of Gabriel had ever done this before for him.

When the phone was returned, he received another paper, this one written by hand as well, though it was not his brother's penmanship.

_Thank you for your interest in this study. This study's purpose is to determine whether an individual that has never prepared tea is adequately capable of following instructions written by a member of the participant's family of how to prepare the tea to the participant's liking. A potential risk is that the tea may still be too hot to consume. In lieu of written consent, consent is given by accepting the beverage. Otherwise, the beverage may be left alone._

The professor breathed out a laugh, one hand near his mouth and his smile had only widened by this point. This note was straight to the point, objective, with no fluff or sense of attachment in regards to names or anything personal, like a consent form should be and it was the sweetest thing Castiel had ever received.

It was carefully set down to prevent ruining it as he unscrewed the lid of his tumbler, peering at the tea inside. Of course, he still felt the anxiety beginning to bubble up in him. This was not prepared by him, what if something was wrong with it, what if something happened, what if-

Then he remembered the video. Dean stood there, watching it, checking the temperature, even got close enough to show it, showed the way he timed how long it steeped, every second of it all, he did all of that because he told him once, very briefly, the first time they met outside of school how he felt about his discomfort of others handling what he ate and drank.

He thought of that video and every aspect of it as he turned his smile to Dean.

"Thank you, Dean."

And he drank his tea.

Dean was relieved the guy took the tea, honestly. He would not have been hurt if he did not, preferences and all, but if the thing was his favourite, it was bound to give him some type of a boost. Not super noticeable, maybe, to anyone who took a glance at him, how down the professor looked. They might peg it to him having a late night or something. So, yeah, a good thing he took his tea and drank it and this time the roles were reversed in a way, with Castiel commenting on the tea and Dean typed down notes on his phone about what he said.

For the sake of being polite and actually liking his professor being all happy with his drink and junk, Dean gave him about halfway done with his tea before he turned to a topic that has been bothering him for a week now. Rapping his knuckles once against the table, his head tiled slightly and eyes narrowed a little. Castiel stayed quiet for a moment before sighing, suddenly fascinated with his tea.

"I know. I'm sorry, I did lie. Gabriel's been asking nonstop why I did. I haven't told him, I figured he doesn't need to know, he's not the one it pertains to, my reason. But, you should know, it's only right."

The man kept spinning his tumbler around before explaining.

"If I said yes, that you were there, then you would've been called in. Then the committee would've questioned you very thoroughly, sent you on your way then called you in at a later time. And they're extremely… particular, to put it kindly, when it comes to exactly how they get their answers. Detailed, lengthy, personal accounts they can record, usually by way of audio and the old fashioned way of writing. That… I couldn't ask you-it wouldn't even have been asking had I named you, actually, they would make you go in, they're very insistent when it comes to this. I couldn't put you in that position, in such a situation that's not something you'd be comfortable with simply because Hael has not been handling my decision well."

Now Dean felt like shit for assuming the guy did not trust him enough to do it or thought him a fuck up because clearly, he was incapable of something of thinking ill of him and was only being as considerate as he always was. Between having a chance to keep teaching or respecting his boundaries, Castiel had not even hesitated to give up his position so Dean would not be poked and prodded at to talk and write in a way he knew he refused to do. And it did affect him pretty badly from what Gabriel told him, which he beginning to suspect the other knew would happen and how in the fuck did Dean manage to have someone like this for his professor, who did he possibly please in the universe to meet such a freaking good guy. Or who did he piss off, being put with him and knowing who he was, what a toxic person he was, and actually fucking liking the guy and knowing that getting close was not possible because he would only end up corrupting the poor guy.

This was all kinds of fucked up.

"In any case, it's as I told Gabriel, I'll simply… show them my medical records along with notes made and that alone should show the accusation is false."

Although Dean never spoke and generally, he spent most his day sleeping or stewing in his own self-loathing for the past three years, he was a pretty perceptive dude, he thought. Even if he was not, it was hard to miss how the professor was uncomfortable with the idea of publicising that information, be it to a small committee or not. And he knew by this point it was not any topic of shame for him, he did divulge things here and there about his own struggles when they were relevant to what he was teaching in class, it was more… loss of control, Dean would say.

Castiel liked being in control of stuff when it involved him and his environment. Not the normal, encoded into every human like of control, though. It was more than that, like he was absolutely stricken at the notion of losing any of it and Dean usually saw that with people who never really were given control over their lives growing up, always had people–parents, most likely, maybe teachers–lording over them and telling them what to do, what to think, all kinds of shit. Maybe this need for control came from that, maybe it was his OCD–Castiel had confided in him, after spending more time together, that he was diagnosed at a very early age, saying nothing more on the subject–or hell, maybe one just exacerbated the other.

Whatever it was, giving over what he was thinking of to the professor meant giving up a piece of that control and it was not being done voluntarily. That was the thing about treatment for it, that one he read about when he was doing his project for bio psych–yeah, sue him, he wanted to freaking know more about the disorder to understand–because in order for it to be effective, the person had to be committed to it, they had to have made the choice that they were going to go through with it of their own free will, not had it shoved onto them.

This never would have to happen if Dean was not so fucked up and broken and-

No.

No, actually, this time, he did not believe that. This never would have happened if it was not for Hael, he was nothing more than a small piece of it all. Whether he was there or not, she would have done it anyway. Him being there meant that he helped Castiel through his panic attack because of Hael. Him being there meant that he helped Castiel by listening to every little thing Hael said about this.

Him being there meant he was going to help Castiel expose Hael for the liar she was all the while allowing the professor to keep his control.

Because the professor had made his choice to respect his boundaries and the least he could do is make a choice that would respect his, even if those dicks on the committee would not.

\---

Castiel was not ready for this.

One, two, three, four, five-

Lost count.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven-

_Damn it._

One, two, three, four, five, six-

Frustrated and anxiety skyrocketing, Castiel kept his eyes on the ceiling, counting the multiple little holes in the tiles and getting up to ten this time before he had to tear his eyes off of it and started picking and clawing away at his gloved hands instead. Hardly the same as doing it without the gloves in the way, although considerably less harming and he really did not need to go in with his fingers bleeding. They already hurt some to flex and feel rubbing against the material, some of them were swollen from how often he had picked at them and both his hands still throbbed from the scalding water he used.

So, better, he tried to reason, it was better and it was all okay and he took his pills so he would be okay, he would be just fine and this was all okay, completely and utterly-

"Mr. Novak? They're ready for you."

-not okay.

None of this was okay. Necessary to clear up any confusion, yes, but not okay. Reciting facts in his head helped from when he was standing there, waiting, to getting inside the room because once he was, he saw who exactly they had chosen for a faculty member of his department and those horrible intrusive thoughts of his were having a field day.

"Zachariah."

Probably all he could get out that was pleasant at the moment.

"Glad to see you could make it, Castiel."

Lips twitching, he had to bite down on his tongue and take a deep breath when faced with that not even attempted to be hidden condescending and smug grin of his and wait until he was certain he was not going to blurt out the first thought that came to mind. Once that was gone, he addressed the other two present.

"Nerissa. Lorraine."

"Please, take a seat."

Facing down a chair seemed ridiculous, in all possible manners, he should be able to sit on the chair instead of staring at it like it was going to eat him or was some radioactive waste. The chair was not dangerous, it was simply a chair, an average, sat on by who knows how many, uncleaned, ripe with germs and filth, old, not his own chair.

How difficult could that be?

Apparently, extremely because he might have been able to handle it any other time, he sat in chairs that were not his before and sometimes felt okay enough to do it without cleaning it, so long as he sat on his trench coat and washed it after, lack of direct contact, things of that sort, like when he went to Anael's house. But this chair was more than a chair because once he sat down on it, they would talk and he would hand over these papers he had and it was really, really hot and oh, Nerissa were talking.

"Are you alright, Professor Novak?"

No, he was the farthest thing from alright and he was already saying the opposite, only able to get out, "Yes," before the door near well broke itself open and barrelling in came Dean, who looked incredibly out of breath and like he was having difficulty standing, his only support being the doorknob he was gripping tight. That certainly did not stop him from limping over, the professor saw that it hurt, based on the twitches in his facial muscles and he was determined, he also saw that as he approached.

All that made him forget his chair dilemma.

"Dean, what are you doing here?"

Dean glanced behind him and scrunched his nose.

"It's alright, you don't have to."

Really, he did not, he would hate to do that to him.

Except, Dean thought he should, not that he had to, this was his choice. And it was not really planned when he reached out and hooked two fingers on the buckle around the cuff of his professor's trench coat, wearing a thin pair of gloves he had tucked into the corner of his drawer. Or maybe it was, he did see the gloves there and felt he should wear them. He did not make contact with anything but the material, it was not any longer than a second and he did not break eye contact with the other as he did this because if there was any time his squinty stare power really had to work its mojo, it was right now.

Azures bore into him, glanced at his cuff then squinted. Must have gotten a good enough answer because he nodded, "Okay. If that's what you've decided."

Nice little moment was cut off with the older guy interrupting and he looked a little familiar, not important enough to be recognised by him by name.

"Excuse me, you can't just have some _delinquent_ barge in like this! This _isn't_ a-"

Dean saw that same strange spark flash in the professor's eyes, like when that bitch said mental illnesses were bad and he turned sharply on his heel, not even looking at the chair as he dragged it close for him and sounding… well, it was not as patient as with that bitch. It was collected and all, yeah, but like there was a fucking storm brewing and this douche was his sole target underneath all that pleasantry.

"May I remind you, _Professor Knapp,_ that you are on the committee selected for an alleged harassment. And if you value your position on that particular side of the desk, I would _highly_ recommend the next words out of your mouth to be along the lines of this not being a school where derogatory terms are acceptable and you show Dean some _respect."_

Holy fuck.

Dean would hate to be on the receiving end of that.

It was not what Castiel wanted to say, what wanted to come out was far less eloquent and a lot more violent and threatening, although that would not help his case. Yet, it seemed to put Zachariah in his place, he kept his mouth shut and Lorraine took over.

"Professor Novak, will you please explain what Dean is doing here then?"

This was something he had not been expecting and it was already being taken care of by the student who pulled out some sheets of paper for him to take, offering to hold his for the time being. Castiel read only the title and had his answer.

"Dean is here to conduct a study."

"Excuse me? This isn't one of your classes, professor."

"Please. It's quite crucial to this investigation and the amount of time a researcher puts into creating an experiment shouldn't be allowed to go to waste."

This meant something to Dean, it was his choice, they had to understand and not reject it because it was different. Zachariah's snide comments might have helped some this time around, maybe the other two felt embarrassed by his behaviour because Nerissa nodded.

"Proceed."

Castiel did just that.

"Thank you for your participation in the study. This study's purpose is to determine if who presents evidence in a case affects the decision a committee of individuals makes. As this is a meeting all present have consented on attending, written consents will not be necessary at the given time. If you wish to receive one, you may request such before the experiment begins."

Even if Zachariah asked for one with the impression that there were none, Castiel walked right up to him, slid one over, watched him read it all only to find no flaws and have to sign it to hand back.

He was happy to know Dean had learnt so much from his class.

"Background will be provided on the subject before the evidence is shown," the professor had to pause at that, knowing what that meant and not being able to help looking over at Dean to confirm again that he was alright with this. Dean never spoke about his past and that was fine by him, he did not talk about his either. Doing this, it was doing a lot more than providing what he knew about Hael.

Dean sniffed.

Castiel continued on.

"This is Dean Winchester. He is twenty-five years old, born in Lawrence, Kansas. Since an accident three years ago, he has not spoken and has since been diagnosed with major depressive disorder, panic disorder and displays symptoms of PTSD. In particular, therapists have noted he suffers from an extreme case of survivor's guilt. He has not attended therapy in two years and has declined any medication since being diagnosed."

Seeing all the clients he did and knowing what he knew, it was not hard to put the pieces together that something had happened to Dean, something awful that involved others that led him to make the choice not to speak. Yet, that did not make it okay in any way and he did not pity him. If anything, he admired his strength of how he continued on even with all that.

Dean was an amazing man, people seemed to not see that and it saddened him.

"Dean will be providing you with the evidence he has gathered up until this moment to prove the complainant has falsely accused and is, in fact, the harasser."

The other did get up, balancing a laptop on his arm as he stepped up to the desk and it was not until he had set the laptop down and was able to steady himself with the desk that Castiel realised he was there, three steps away, yes, but hands up in case he lost balance.

Odd, it was not like he could catch him, he could not touch anyone and had nothing to use as support.

Pushing that aside, he watched as Dean plugged in his phone and clicked away on iTunes as it popped up and a few other things before he flipped the laptop to face them and hit the space bar, recorded chatter instantly filling the room with one voice cutting clear. He had to remember to pass out the papers he had, they were part of the evidence, stuff Dean had written down, word for word.

"You're going to regret getting in between me and Castiel."

Hael.

As the short audio recordings continued playing, the professor was horrified at how vicious Hael was and how Dean had taken all of that in complete stride because he certainly never looked affected and never said anything about it. Unbelievably glad they finished playing and he did not read too much of what was written down, it did not seem Dean was done yet as he brought up a video.

At first, all it showed was the floor then the button for the elevator as the lighting and focus was adjusted. Almost right after that was done, the video went a little shaky, like Dean had moved suddenly and he did, the wall was much closer now. What bothered him most about it was seeing how he had angled his phone up a little and there was Hael.

"I told you that you shouldn't have gotten in between us. Guy like you, don't talk, don't do anything but _take up space,_ you don't deserve Castiel. So, _back off_ and I'll tell them it wasn't real. I'll retract the complaint and he'll have his job. You tell Castiel that, too. I know you see him."

… Oh my God.

Was this how Hael was all the time, behind the kind front she put up with him?

The video ended when Dean pushed himself off the wall and they all just kind of stared at the screen, unsure of what to say. Castiel was still horrified and probably a little more angry than what was considered proper conduct given she was a student of his. Except, was she really his student anymore? Given he was suspended and this was finals week–only the second day, yes, but his finals were scheduled for the first two days–it was not like she was really his student any longer, only a past one. And she was still a person before being a student like he was a person before being a professor, getting angry was not banned.

Such emotions would have to be mulled over later and he cleared his throat and went back to the script, Dean picking up his laptop and going back to sit down.

"Thus concludes the experiment. A post test has been omitted after careful consideration that the results will be such in their own right. The other subject you will be exposed to is the complainant, who has no formal diagnosis and a lack of concrete evidence. This study's purpose was also to study the validity of different methods of witness accounts, as verbal and written accounts are not always a possibility and reasonable accommodations that are valid and reliable should be implemented. Thank you for your time."

All of that done with, he walked over to Dean to give his papers back.

"Professor Novak. May we have copies of that evidence?"

Castiel stopped at that, tilting his head. Curious, why they would ask him.

"I cannot provide them and I don't understand why you believe I can."

His answer was not what Lorraine was expecting, judging by her confused expression.

"You just showed it to us, though, and it's key to this investigation."

"I'm fully aware how crucial it is. But, I never showed you a thing, none of this was my doing and it's not mine to share. If you have any requests, you'll have to direct them to Dean."

"Oh, come on, now you're just being-"

"No. He's right, Professor Knapp," Nerissa finally did address his student, who spared them nothing but a glance before looking at him as he stood up, "Mr. Winchester, will you send us copies of this?"

Dean sniffed.

"He will gladly do so."

Why they thought he would go along with everything being his was quite irrational. If it was Dean's work, then it was his consent they needed, not his. They would not ask his brother to give them something if he had created the study, it was no different in this case.

"I think that'll be all. We'll have our decision by the end of the week. Thank you, Mr. Winchester, Professor Novak."

Both of them walked out feeling about five times lighter and better.

Probably not exactly, Dean's leg hurt like a bitch and was too stiff to move properly. Castiel directed them to a small table by one of the convenience stores with those very useful umbrellas given the sun's intensity right now and he was glad to sit down, especially since it was not far from the building. The other remained standing, for now.

"I believe this is the part where we're supposed to celebrate."

Dean blinked.

"Not exactly the location I would choose, but it'll do. I think it's only right I treat you to something you like."

Dean sniffed.

Castiel did smile back this time.

And that made Dean inexplicably happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's Hael getting what was coming to her. It was implied in the last chapter and some of this one what Dean was doing all along, using her words against her and all. 
> 
> And, what Dean did for Castiel, showing all the steps and all, I based it on something my girlfriend did for me a few months into our relationship because I honestly thought it the sweetest thing, it meant so much to me that she did that for me, and it was, to me, a really defining moment in our relationship. 
> 
> The note he wrote, well, maybe Dean has found a way to communicate but detach himself so he doesn't have to worry about getting close. And he might have picked that up from a certain professor and their first time out, became a thing for them. 
> 
> The way the whole scene is done with his study isn't depicting the entire process of a research study or how it's usually done since, like I said, Dean's using a modified version of what he knows it to be as a method to give them what he knows but not have to tie himself directly to it or speak and all. Written consent is necessary, to inform of risks, give contact information, things of that sort. There were a lot of variables not controlled, the debriefing should be once everything is done, which is when they make their decision, just stuff that I feel I should mention in case you've never done one but decide to partake in a study and want to make sure it's legitimate, don't go off of this. Ask if you know any researchers or find a reliable source on the Internet or a book to see how it should be conducted to ensure whoever is running the study is adhering to the guidelines. 
> 
> A little more has been given away about Dean and Castiel and their past, which Dean thinks is going to screw up what they have, so that'll be something. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the small gestures that are in the chapter that are really big stepping stones for both of them. 
> 
> And, I feel like I should make a note on the very important matter of not taking too many anti-anxiety pills or combining them. It's not recommended, what Castiel did, not at all and I would hate if anyone thought it okay because they read it done. I'm not pursuing a career in psychiatry with my degree in psychology, I wouldn't be able to handle all that school and residency;; But I do know enough about anti-anxiety medication from personal experiences, what I've been told by psychiatrists, seen at work, and just what I've read about them. 
> 
> That should be all the notes.


	8. July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean expects Castiel to distance himself, like everyone does, and ends up with something more. Sam thinks what he receives is one of the best things possible and learns to try and look at things in a new light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished a chapter of Your Filthy Soul and this one, I'm actually quite impressed with that. I'm also very tired. Practically teaching students when all I'm supposed to be doing is tutoring them because their professor teaches in a way that isn't effective is hard when balancing out classes. It is all really stressful and I haven't even started grad school, I can't imagine how that'll be if I have something like this happen again;;
> 
> Writing is pretty stress relieving, I just hope it makes sense, and all your comments make me so happy! You're all so wonderful!
> 
> There aren't really any warnings to put for this chapter that weren't already in the tags, I think.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

There were certain things Castiel knew about him that Dean, no matter how much he thought about it, had no freaking idea how he managed to learn about him.

And like, they were even things that Sam might not have ever picked up about him. The frappuccino in front of him was a perfect example because how the hell would Sam know he liked mocha frappuccinos with a pump of hazelnut and enough whipped cream to press lightly against the little plastic bubble top so he could lick it off? Hell, how did Castiel gather that from their time together or how he liked a muffin with it?

Squinty stare power, man.

He never asked how he knew, pegging it to the professor just being insanely perceptive and given he could just look at him and talk like he spoke actual words, not really something he questioned. Instead, he was quite satisfied with licking away the whipped cream on the bubble top before tilting his head at the other, nose twitching.

"I wasn't expecting you to show up or to stay after the meeting, so I don't have anything."

Dean would offer him some of what he had if it would not make him uncomfortable. Though, he did reach in to get his student planner to show the map, finger pausing over a spot for a second before he went back to his muffin. That second was long enough for Castiel to see what he was pointing at and connect the pieces, expression softening some when he did.

"You ran all the way from the DRC to administration to get there on time? I do hope you still took your time on the final, although I don't think you would have any difficulty with it, you've done very well in all my classes."

The distance was not much, maybe an average of just under two minutes of a walk for anyone else, maybe a minute if they jogged. But the damn thing was on one of those gentle slopes that were the bane of his fucking existence. If it was going down, he might have had an easier time, let the momentum do most of the work. Life was not fair, it was going up and Gabriel had ended up leaving him a note on the iPad he was handed about when and where and shit, he had everything carried along just in case, though he was not expecting it to run in so close to the time he took his final.

Normally, he would have taken it in class though with Castiel not there and Hael was, he would rather not and he was thankful because that was a lot farther. He hoped there were not too many typos in his answers and they made sense, he had rushed as quick as he could and still was out barely in time. The tram was off somewhere else, taking too long for his liking and he had said fuck it. Initially, he walked, about ten steps before growing frustrated and breaking out into what was his version of running. He could, kind of, if he really focused on one foot in front of the other and not the pain, trying to put more weight on his right side. Short distance, he could do it, he told himself and made it. About ready to collapse and far too winded for his liking, but he made it and he put those damn people in their place and Castiel did not have to step outside his comfort zone with no other choice.

Dean sniffed.

"I'm glad to hear that. Perhaps, if they allow me to return by the end of this week, I'll be able to grade it. I think Uriel and Anael are going to give them to me to grade either way, they have enough on their hands as it is."

Their conversation moved from finals to classes to the other telling him a story of how one time in grad school, a professor of his created an exam that every answer was all of the above and Castiel had never seen that many students look so incredibly stressed, scared and confused collectively. Amusing, really, he never got to grad school, probably never would and he was just fine with that. Never even finished his bachelor's degree, was about two quarters short before he dropped out.

Whatever, really, not that he cared anymore.

As Castiel spoke, Dean noticed his hand kept brushing along the folder he had, the one he guessed his documents were in and it was probably a subconscious thing, to see it was still there and everything inside remained unseen. That was what he guessed until the professor blurted out something.

"I was four."

Dean's nose twitched.

Castiel pursed his lips together, a small vee forming at his brow as he collected his thoughts.

"You were twenty-two. I was four," the man paused again, then continued, "My earliest memory of it is being absolutely petrified that I was somehow going to break my mother's back if I moved. As the saying goes, 'step on a crack, break your mother's back.' Gabriel told me this, he heard it at school, and I understood enough to think how many times I almost killed her, what if I did kill her, and it was… very anxiety-inducing, as much as a four year old could have. And my mother screeching at Gabriel not to touch me with dirty hands or else I would get sick and die and never actually having her hold me the way I now see mothers hold their children, always at a distance or with some sort of barrier in between us, so I was always scared. There were other things I did, things that haven't really gone away. My mother never thought it was anything to concern herself with. I followed orders, I was remarkably hygienic for my age and I suppose in her eyes, I was her second chance because Gabriel turned out to be so rebellious."

Dean stopped eating and drinking, watching the other as he pressed on.

"And I never went to public school, so I thought… I thought it was normal. To be so anxious, so consumed by it all, maybe that was just me. Whenever the panic came, these things helped, I never thought them as compulsions, never thought they might be indicators of what I had. But one day my mother caught me in a panic, she was certain I was dying because I touched something without cleaning it, which didn't really help, and we went to the hospital. I was ten when I got formally diagnosed and the doctor was confused why I was never seen earlier, if this was happening since I was four."

He was not certain whether or not he should do anything right now, settling on simply listening and making sure to remain as attentive looking as he could.

"My mother was adamant in trying to make me believe it was all in my head, I was being ridiculous and crazy and to stop it. She took rather… extreme measures to try and get me to stop, thinking it would go away the more she forced, telling me I was not crazy and such all the while. Not a very nurturing environment, especially since she seldom let me out of the house, it was quite depressing. I think that was something that prompted me to get through school as quickly as I did. I wanted to get out of there and as soon as I did, I went to see a therapist, who told me, in addition to what I was already told, I had MDD and panic disorder. She also referred me to a psychiatrist, a not so pleasant experience the first time, he wasn't very kind. I found a very kind one when I transferred for grad school, however. Though that never made the cocktails of medications in search for a fitting one any more enjoyable."

All Dean knew before was it was early, his diagnosis, never that early or any of the story behind it. And, he was actually pretty glad he did the research he did and chose OCD as the topic for his project for bio psych. Before, he used to think that people probably ended up developing it in their late teenage years, like high school or something, maybe it had to do with puberty or shit crammed in their heads or pressure from peers and parents. Maybe it was an extreme form of perfectionism that a person eventually fell into the habit of doing, ideas from things gleaned here and there, not from the most reliable sources, yeah, but he never really knew anyone with it.

In doing his project, he did learn more about brain functions, the difference between someone with and without, the onset of it, other things that went beyond the amount of research he had to do. So, he knew that there was some studies out there about children showing symptoms or having full blown OCD, knew the age could be really young and that if caught and treated, they might not find themselves waist deep in it entering their teens, they would not have to deal with the anxiety and unwanted thoughts and all.

Though what the fuck kind of mom tells their son he was crazy because of that? John could be a shit dad, he could say some really nasty crap about him–hell, the last thing he said to him was some nasty crap–and maybe it could even be worse in some people's eyes. Dean did not see it that way, something about it just seemed completely wrong, telling a kid he was crazy due to something he had no clue how to manage, never given the chance to learn how and only getting more severe the longer it was left alone.

All of this was conveyed with a twist of his lips and loud, disapproving snort. Castiel gave an awkward, wry smile in return.

"She was a generally unpleasant woman, yes. Thinking back to when she was alive and how she behaved, I feel considerably confident in saying she had something as well and never confronted it, which might have exacerbated my own to the point of where I am at now."

His hand went to swipe the edge of the folder and he shook his head once, an odd sort of throaty noise crawling up and passing his lips, something he had not even noticed because he saw that smile go from pained to that little muted one he knew and yeah, he liked it and looked forward to seeing it, so what?

"Thank you. That means a lot to me, I hope you know that."

Dean blinked.

Whilst he had given over what he thought was a lot of who he was, far more than he had told anyone voluntarily–Sam practically begged him to let him go to therapy with him when he still went–the amount he received back was one, not something he was expecting in return and two, more than he had given and three, he really expected Castiel to think differently. Because, really, survivor's guilt, as that therapist said he had, that was already telling he had survived something and another did not and he honestly thought it was not that, it was fact. He survived when he should not have. Kind of the definition of that, but whatever, it was not that, not when it was truth.

And the guy just gave back what he received, more than that and Dean felt inclined to return the gesture. Castiel was a good guy, he deserved that much and if it pushed him further and further away, it was bound to happen sometime. That in mind, he used his phone to pull up a site and showed it to the other, who did that head tilt of his whenever he was thinking and then smiled.

"Mechanical engineering at KU, that sounds interesting. Did you enjoy it there? Or are you finding community college more to your liking?"

And if Dean tapped his fingers twice to answer, well, Castiel did not really have to know the reason why that was his answer, now did he?

\---

"So what happened? That brat get what she deserved? Can I prank her now and not risk my job?"

"Hello to you as well, Gabriel."

Castiel felt a little off after Dean had left because he had no real purpose being on campus. Aimlessly wandering around would be pointless, he knew every inch of the campus and he would rather not walk by his class in case students were still there taking the final and questioned him. Uriel and Anael had told them he was out sick and for the sake of not letting it get completely out of hand, he would like to have it remain that way. Avoiding the psychology classes when sociology classes were just on the other side was too difficult, so he ended up waiting by his office, passing his time twiddling his thumbs or counting the dots on the tiles–there were one thousand eighty-nine, now that he was calm enough to count across and down–and eventually settled for fixing flyers that were on a nearby table and the ones posted until they were organised sufficiently.

Now that Gabriel was here, however, he helped him by taking the stack of exams he had and his tumbler as he opened the door to his office.

"Yeah, hello, kind of redundant since _we live together,_ but there it is, so where's my answer?"

"It's simply polite."

"Bro, you don't want to get into this again, do you? We can go on for hours about the psychological and sociological points of a goddamn hello and I'm going to be up to my freaking eyeballs with grading finals as it is."

"Perhaps another time then. As for your answer, the committee will decide by the end of this week. Regardless of the decision, I don't think it'd be wise to prank her. You tend to cross the very obvious line of harmless pranks and very possibly traumatising someone."

Gabriel rolled his eyes and dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"It wasn't my fault that guy actually believed he was abducted and probed by aliens."

Castiel let out a small laugh at that, knowing that it most likely was and the male in questioned was shaken by the whole ordeal which never happened. He always wondered how his brother managed that, he was not there when it happened, though he certainly heard all about it. When he asked, the answer was always along the lines of never revealing his secrets and for the sake of remaining unaware of maybe some questionable actions, he left it alone.

"Anyway, have you gotten your finals from Anael and Uriel? They told me to let you know they'd be in your mailbox, since you were coming today."

"I haven't gone, I didn't want to run into any of my students."

His brother had packed up everything he needed for the time being and allowed his bag to smack his arm lightly.

"Let's go now then. They're bound to be gone, taking another final, or mingling, they won't bother you."

Walking along to the elevator, Castiel knew his brother was trying to be casual in asking and he also knew he was doing a very poor job at it, "So… how's Dean?"

"He's well. His leg was hurting earlier, though I imagine that'll pass as he's finished finals for this quarter and has time to rest. But, I think what you were trying to ask is if he showed up during the meeting. He did, Zechariah was furious. What he showed was… helpful to the case, yes, and also unsettling."

"Good boy. I knew he'd do it."

"I think you two would get along well if it came to talking about what upsets you about Hael. And many other subjects."

"Hell, I'll take pissing all over Hael with someone since you don't have a bad bone in your body that can do it. Maybe later. What I want to know right now is why didn't you tell me you took your Clinical Vignette Examination already? I had to hear from Pamela."

"I haven't gotten my results, they'll be given next week and I didn't want to build this up into something big in case I failed. And, with everything that was happening, it didn't seem right."

"Jesus, there's no way you _won't_ pass. You'll be a licensed MFT in no time and I'm throwing a damn party when you find out you pass, no room for protests."

The professor sighed, a little in exasperation of his pushiness about a party because he was kind of bad at social settings and more out of appreciation and thankfulness that he had his brother with him.

Gabriel did so much for him, Castiel doubt he would be where he was today without him.

\---

Dean was bored.

It was little weird because it was not like he really did much of anything besides sleep, go to work, go to school and sleep, with some eating in between. Lack of school on Wednesday and Thursday probably was the cause of this boredom, he had nothing to do in the hours he should be there and was wired by this point to be up and about at least for awhile. When Friday came, he was a little relieved. A little because Sam was home, too, and the same as last quarter, he was asking if he met anyone or was going to hang out with anyone and stupid shit.

He was going to cut that damn mane of his and shove it all in his mouth to shut him up.

Around twelve in the afternoon, he felt a vibration from his phone and that was odd because he was not supposed to work today. Did they change it? No, they did not, because his phone said _Cas_ and had an attachment. Unlocking his phone, his guess of being a picture was incorrect when the video started and the camera was aimed at a MacBook, adjusting and Dean paused it to read the text.

The first thing he saw was the email was addressed to C. J. Novak and the second thing he saw was that it was that committee and fuck yeah, it was saying Castiel was reinstated and that bitch was dealing with some consequences for falsely accusing, which Dean hoped meant she was out of the school. Probably was and damn it felt good to know that. A little strange Castiel would send him a video and once he allowed it to keep playing, he realised what was happening.

_"Gabriel? What are you doing with my phone?"_

The camera suddenly jerked and there was Castiel and _oh…_ Dean honestly never saw the man wearing anything besides slacks, a button up and tie. Sometimes a waistcoat, vest, whatever the things were called and always his trench coat, and it was just really spiffy and clean and stuff, he started to humour himself thinking maybe that was all he had and he had some equally spiffy pyjamas that he wore to bed. Except, there was Castiel, in low slung jeans and a grey t-shirt, hair rumpled, and okay, maybe he was a dorky guy, but he was definitely not little. His button ups and trench coat really took away from the shape of his arms and upper body as a whole because shit, he did have muscle. His slacks did no better and it was a hell of a lot of detail to gather since the camera shook right after.

_"Shit! I've been caught. Just sending your sweetie the good news."_

_"You could have used your phone."_

The video ended there and Dean stood there, staring dumbly at his phone. That… he had no idea what to think, his mind was not working, nothing came no matter how long he stayed there.

"Dean? You okay?"

Emeralds caught sight of Sam, glanced back at his phone then nodded before shuffling off.

Celebrate.

That was the first thing to come to mind, he would roll with it. Then he recalled Sam's persistent questions and made a choice. Same routine as always and he might have added a screenshot of the video along with snapping a picture of Sam.

So what?

Messages received and read, the time and place were sent back along with the smiley face. Good. Okay. Now, just to show Sam and let him know.

Monday it was.

\---

To say Sam was surprised that Dean had come to him was not quite the way he would put it. It was certainly more than that because Dean rarely went out and even when he did, he never invited him along. So, yes, surprised, pleasantly so. He was excited to meet this Castiel guy. All he knew was that he had been Dean's professor both quarters and his last name was Novak. When he showed him the profile the first time they went out, he never actually got a good look at the picture, something he regret.

Now he was getting to meet him, a few months later and that made up for it.

The only thing that sucked was that he did not know who to look for when they got to Starbucks. His brother did not have that problem and already started moving towards someone. This someone was a man in a leather jacket and jeans and Sam knew professors dressed casually outside of class, some even did so in class, but this guy looked like he was the same age as them, he never would have guessed he was a professor.

Far cry from what he expected and he walked towards him nonetheless, the man already greeting Dean before looking at him.

"Hello, Sam. Dean has told me so much about you."

Sam was stuck on not being prepared for his voice and the fact that he just said Dean mentioned him. Barely remembering he had to say something in return, he caught himself in time and held out his hand as he did.

"Wish I could say the same."

The professor recoiling from his hand came as a surprise and he faltered some, not sure what he did to offend him and he received an apologetic smile.

"I apologise. I must seem rude." He watched Castiel lift his hands a little as a gesture and he was wearing gloves, that must be uncomfortable and get hot, something he must do more by necessity than choice. Dean grabbed his arm and shook his head once.

He took the hint.

"No, it's alright. I'm sorry, not the best first meet."

"I assure you I've had plenty worse."

Awkwardness aside, they all sat down and the entire thing felt a little surreal. Mainly because _oh shit,_ Castiel was talking to Dean. Well, he was talking to both of them, yet talking to him was not difficult. Dean was another story, he usually never reacted to anything and here he was, doing these small gestures he never really saw him do and the other was answering him with every move he made, an honest to God conversation. If that was not enough, when something was said that made Castiel laugh, Dean would make this little noise, like a pleased hum in his throat or something and he seemed completely unaware that he even doing it.

Holy shit, it was hardly a loud sound and it was still a freaking noise, he never heard him make one before, voluntarily or not.

And he was not going to mention it, not if it meant he might clam up even more, so he pretended nothing happened and carried on. Castiel was an interesting guy and he was not too off about being close to their age, he was turning twenty-seven in July, and he had a kind of off beat sense of humour and a habit to take things too literally, though a good man.

Dean had shifted in his seat and a finger twitched, which damn, Castiel actually nodded and said, "We'll be fine," then his brother got up and walked off to the bathrooms. Gaping, he turned to the other.

"How do you do that?"

"Pardon?"

"You, you like," Sam gesticulated because what else was he supposed to do until his words formed and this guy, this freaking guy, made a small sound of understanding.

"Ah. Well, he talks and I respond, same as you and I are doing now."

"But it's… you don't… it's not _hard_ for you?"

Castiel glanced over where his brother had left to then pushed up his glasses as he answered him, "No. I've been finding this is a topic that confuses many and I'm not quite certain how I may explain properly. Perhaps an example of someone deaf? Would you say you have difficulty communicating with them, if they wrote something down for you? Or if you knew sign language?"

"Well, no."

"How about someone who is blind?"

"I guess not?"

"And someone who is mute would be the same, or mute and deaf, or any combination of the three or anything else there may be out there. We find ways of communicating with one another is what I'm trying to say. Sometimes, it's not what is deemed 'normal' and that tends to discourage many. And it's a shame because Dean is a brilliant man with so much to offer, if more people heard him. Whether it's what society deems normal or not, I've always looked forward to talking to Dean and trying to anticipate what new thing he'll teach me."

Sam could tell he was being genuine, he was trying to explain it and make him understand what he personally thought about it and he felt like an ass either way. Here was this professor who had not batted an eyelash at Dean, who only listened and had a better understanding of what he said after a few months and geez, he was kind of a shitty younger brother, he was pretty sure he should have been able to hear Dean the way Castiel did instead of think that he needed to actually verbally say something for him to understand.

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Sam. I can't say I know everything you and your brother have been through, though I have enough experience to tell you it's not your fault, don't turn to self-blame."

How he even knew that was crossing his mind was a little freaky and he knew it was impossible to read minds. That did not make it any less a possibility in his head and the professor smiled lightly, twiddling his thumbs.

"I apologise. Since the quarter ended, I've been seeing a lot of clients and I tend to overanalyse sometimes."

"Clients?"

"Yes. I'm an intern. Or, as Gabriel says, I'm already a MFT. I think it's premature to say such."

"What's a MFT?"

Dean arrived as he was asking this question and he was glad the topic had diverted, it would be a little tense if that kept on going, probably, his brother never liked it when he was talked about like he was not sitting there.

"Marriage and family therapist. I took my licensing exam awhile ago and my brother is already planning a celebration for Friday." Maybe that explained why he was so good at hearing what Dean had to say and how he could tell what he was thinking, Sam mused, "Which reminds me, he's insisted I invite you or fear his wrath. I'd like to avoid his wrath and it should be pleasant enough, he's promised it'll be small."

Looking over at Dean, he figured their answer was a yes, it was simply to make sure and maybe to try and see if he could do what the other did, hear him talk and all.

Dean sniffed.

Castiel smiled.

"Let me give you the address."

Okay, so that was not too new, usually Dean would nod with him to say yes. Keeping a close watch, he saw Castiel write the address down on a post-it and folded it neatly before sliding it over. He gave it to Dean and he noticed how his hand had not gone back all the way and how his brother kept his hand over the note, fingers flexing like he was going to do something. Abruptly, he pulled back with the note and blinked, shifting in his seat once more.

"It is getting a little late, yes, and I've clients in a bit and agreed to help Pamela organise the office. I'm sorry I have to cut this short, Sam. It was wonderful to meet you and I look forward to hearing more about your classes. If you need any help, I know a handful of the law professors at school that would be willing to help. I think they're more available than your professors at Stanford."

"Uh, yeah. Thanks, that'd be nice. I'll keep that in mind. And I'll see you Friday."

"Of course. Have a lovely day, Sam. Dean."

Dean sniffed and made that odd little sound again, something Castiel might know about and hear, he had to guess, by the way he smiled or maybe it was something else and then he was walking away in kind of a strange way.

Was he avoiding something?

He would have to ask Dean, improve his whole understanding on what he said and might take the professor up on his offer for help, although not always for law.

Between law and his brother, law could wait.

Dean had no clue that his brother was thinking about this, focused more on his music and checking streets on the way home. Only when he was home did he look at the address written and look up how to get there along with how long it would take and _fuck._

It would take an hour on the bus and about fifteen minutes of walking, that was not something he was looking forward to at all.

Fuck his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to start with a really important note that's also a bit personal to me. If you have children, work with children, have younger siblings, know anyone who does or anything of that sort, please don't dismiss them because they're "just children" and so they don't know any better. If you do listen and take them seriously already, I'm so happy to hear that. But, I still feel I should make a note of it because it's really important to me. I can't tell you the amount of times I heard my parents tell me it's just in my head, stop acting crazy or trying to seek attention for a lot of things or how I was, who I was and how negatively that impacted me or how much I thought what if I really was broken or losing my mind at the age of five and so on. Or how now, at the age of twenty, I still struggle with it and still have to hear my parents say it whenever I see them and how painful it is to see children going through the same thing with parents who belittle them because they think mental illnesses aren't real illnesses. That's my little rant of the day. Or is it morning, since it's almost three in the morning?
> 
> Story notes, isn't progress nice? Dean's progress is nice, even if he doesn't know he's doing it. And he's smitten, it's a little adorable, then a bit sad when he tries to shake it off because he thinks he's undeserving. And, just a tiny bit more about Dean's past, just his major mostly.
> 
> Hope you liked the appearance of casual dressed Castiel, I didn't know what to base it on other than what Misha's worn and I don't often describe what he's wearing, though I always picture him in fairly formal wear. For glasses, I picture Ray-Bans, I don't know. I use them, eyeglasses and sunglasses, my brother uses sunglasses, everyone I know uses them, so there's that. If you have any good suggestions for them, I'll be happy to hear them!
> 
> Sam came in, also, I thought I should have them meet and have a nice time. He learnt something new, too, which is great. If Castiel can do it, so can he. He might have also seen how they act with each other. Everyone around them seems to see it but them, haha;;


	9. 10 July 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is not a date," has become a common thought in Dean's head, every single time. And, he likes to believe that until it turns out it might not remain all that true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, sorry for taking so long to update. I was meaning to finish and post this chapter along with Your Filthy Soul yesterday, I really was. But, it ended up that I was working myself to the bone with school, work and tutoring without really stopping to take a break and I collapsed during a tutoring session. Not fun. My fault, but still not fun. So, I was told to take a break and rest up, I did until I got restless and finished this up, I found it more relaxing than being in bed;;
> 
> So, I hope that you all like this chapter, I kind of had an idea where it was going, it became this, and I think it's a good way to move along the story?
> 
> Enjoy! :D

"Dean, come on, we're going to miss the bus."

Dean knew this was true, he had the damn bus times and everything committed to memory, spent an inordinate amount of time staring at his phone screen and trying to see if there was a faster way of getting there. Unfortunately, there was not and so he stood here in the living room, all his weight on his right foot until it started to hurt more than a little, finally grabbing his jacket and heading out the door.

This was stupid.

This was completely stupid, freaking out over a bus ride. Yeah, it was twice as long as he was used to but it was just a bus, it was a bus that was going to take him where he needed to go and that was it. Besides, when the hell did a bus get into accidents, that was hardly something heard often. Sure, some dude or chick with a gun might come on or someone might get assaulted on a bus, but that was not like the damn thing was going to crash and he should probably have his priorities straightened because who preferred an armed person and what the fuck ever, his mind, his priorities.

Said priority was annoying because it really screwed with his head the whole time walking to the bus stop, getting on the bus, and resisting the urge to pull the cord when the ride started to feel too long, too many songs had already passed. Instead, he tried to distract himself with other random contemplations. Like, what would Castiel and Gabriel's house look like? He knew they had a house and somehow, that was fitting, he doubt Castiel would very much like being in an apartment or something with limitations on what he could do and Gabriel just really seemed like the kind of guy to like to lay down his own rules and shit.

So, a house. Perhaps a quaint, homey one, like with a picket fence and friendly little front yard with rose bushes and a tree or something, all nicely tended to and easily showing how much love was put into caring for them. Dean had not taken care of flowers and such in little over three years, though he could still dimly recall what it was to be knelt in front of the flowers, pruning and watering and talking to them because of reasons he rather not think of since this was supposed to distract him, not make him feel like shit.

Then he pictured Castiel doing this and the guy was a good guy, he just really lacked what was considered "normal" conversational skills sometimes and so he pictured him reciting some study's finding about what talking to flowers did for them or how it was a therapeutic technique for this set of treatment or that with as much excitement he would to any one person or group of people and it pulled an amused snort out of him because if anyone he knew–hardly a huge list to go through–would talk to flowers like they were people, it would be the professor.

"We're here."

Sam was already up and Dean followed, the younger of the two lagging a little behind once they got off and observing his brother. Ever since Starbucks, he had been trying to pay closer attention, to put words to what the other was saying and simply respond the way he would to those words. So far, he picked up some things here and there, like when Dean would agree with him or accept something, he would always sniff but when he would not, his nose would scrunch up and he tended to look at whatever he thought was correct. A brief glance, but it was there. When he was satisfied, he would blink and look at him a bit longer.

Small things, better than nothing.

The thing he never really got from him were sounds. Not that he was being pushy or anything, pressing him to make some kind of noise with him, that was only going to make him pull away. However, the soft sounds he made when at Starbucks never came when at home, the loudest one he ever got was when he fell asleep and he was breathing, which was sort of a necessity to stay alive, breathing. Thinking about it, he probably should not say he made these sounds at Starbucks, as if the location was the reason why. They had gone to Starbucks a few times beforehand and he was still silent, not a damn peep, not even a sound from when he drank or swallowed, kind of strange to him when before his brother used to get a kick over being loud eating and drinking and on his nerves.

Point of it was, he had not made any sounds since being around Castiel. What was it about the guy that made this happen, he mused. Maybe some inexplicable therapist mojo that made one all open and relaxed. That was unlikely, Dean hated therapists when he had to go and more often than not, Sam found out he skipped the appointments. He hardly knew Castiel well enough to make an educated guess as to why this was and he concluded the guy simply being like he was ended up reason enough that Dean did more than usual.

If that was the case, then was thinking of him enough or something? Because, that snort that came from Dean on the bus was not on his list of "what is Dean saying?" And, the other was unaware that he did it, judging by how he continued on his phone as if nothing happened. It was interesting how much one could gather from a simple sound like that, whether one was angry, annoyed, happy, and so on. His brother was amused by something and he doubt it was the map he had up. What would help a lot is if he actually smiled or did something else was his first thought, promptly squashed down because no, he should not try and fit Dean into how he was before, he should take what he gives now and it was enough.

Must have been the same deal as his leg, he figured. Just like he rarely ever saw him in anything but jeans or sweats due to not liking how his leg looked, probably hated smiling or frowning or anything due to not liking how it would look with the scar on his face. He would say kind of stupid, he would love to see it, scar or no, then he considered it was a self-conscious thing and he had plenty of those, even if Jess would try and make them go away.

This was really complex, geez.

Whilst he would take reading dissents and writing papers for their simplicity to him personally, this was something that, although a challenge and not necessarily his forte, it was more important than that and he would really have to have a talk with Castiel about where in the hell he could possibly start with this.

It appeared that, lost in all his thoughts, he had nearly missed the house altogether and would have kept walking if not for Dean grabbing onto his arm, forcing him to a stop though he was staring at the house rather than him.

"My bad, thinking too much."

Dean dropped his hand after making a dismissive gesture, paying half the attention he should be because holy _fuck,_ if he did not know that Castiel did not have the specific style of humour necessary to pull a prank like this, he would really think the guy was fucking around with him when he gave him the address.

At a glance, the house did not look massive. Pretty quaint, for a two story house, that kind of Victorian façade deal he learnt about way back when, a soft grey colour with the white window finish and porch making it all the more pleasing to the eye. He was incorrect about the picket fence, there was none. The grass was neatly trimmed and green as can be, along with the bushes, points for that. He thinks it was not massive at first glance because as he walked along up to get to the porch, aware of the cars parked here already, he got a glimpse of what was beyond the old style wooden gates and Christ on a cracker, the place extended pretty far back.

Fuck, how much did this place cost?

Sam and him were not penny pinchers or anything, they did pretty well and had some money to spare if they ever wanted to go out and gave a good time. Not that Dean ever did, but he knew his brother did and whatever they had still did not manage nearly enough to probably even rent a room in a house like this, he bet it was all sorts of fancy inside. No time like the present to find out, Sam was already knocking on the door, his eyes wandering until the door opened and seeing Professor Milton in casual clothing and her hair let down was not who he was expecting to answer.

"Dean, I'm glad you could make it! Is this your brother?"

Professor–no, not in school, that was for school– _Anna_ was smiling and stepped back to let them in and Dean nodded in response to her comment and was now standing in an honest to God _foyer,_ just staring at the place. Sam had a little more tact than he did, holding his hand out and introducing himself, being Sam. She was talking, something about getting some more wine from _a freaking wine closet_ when she heard them knock and to follow her to the backyard since it was their first time here, no need to get lost.

The fact that she was leading them, he was immensely grateful for or else he would have stood there like an idiot because it looked like a fucking IKEA had exploded in here and an inane thought came to mind that Castiel's desk at school was not the only thing that looked like a display, this whole damn house did and he only saw the kitchen and some other room–it had a freaking _fireplace–_ before they were out in the backyard and seriously, how much did this place cost, like ten million dollars?

Okay, so that was an exaggeration, though it had to cost a pretty penny for everything, including this nice as shit backyard with its lush grass and vibrant garden and there were the rose bushes and flowers. There were also some people he knew, sitting on the patio furniture and talking, laughing and eating. He knew that was Uriel–and his wife, he guessed, by the rings they wore–Gabriel, some other people, and Castiel.

Castiel caught sight of them as soon as they arrived, getting up from his seat and Dean should really not stare as much as he was, it was just the guy was wearing some faded jeans and a casual style, dark blue button up with the first two buttons undone and it was not weird to see him dressed casually, just… something else.

Something else he would not touch now nor should he ever touch, more so now that he was talking.

"Hello, Dean. Sam. I hope the house wasn't too hard to find."

"No, it wasn't, kind of hard to miss."

Says the guy who almost walked by it. Castiel smiled sheepishly and twiddled his thumbs.

"Yes, the house is rather…" he hummed like he was trying to find the right word and, "spacious," was what he came up with, "After I moved here, Gabriel was insistent in purchasing a good home with 'the works' and this one caught his attention the most. I'll admit, it has its perks. I don't like how long it takes to clean, though, it's too big."

Dean huffed and the professor laughed.

"No, I wouldn't leave it to Gabriel, he'd flip the whole house upside down before he started cleaning."

"Bro, don't hoard them all to yourself, bring them here!"

Castiel turned to look at his brother grinning at him, the way he always did when there was some sort of plan he was devising. No doubt he was going to press on about something regarding his student, he had been doing that more often lately and his buffer at the moment was Kali, who was perhaps the only person in existence who could get his brother to be quiet and do what she asked.

Strong, powerful woman, he liked her a lot. Yes, he had been terrified at first when approaching her two quarters ago because she was rather intimidating, he was not good with new people and she got close to him, too close, when he was there. However, she was kind and considerate, also, she realised she crossed a line and stepped back once she did, let him calm down and explain himself and he would like to say they hit it off from there.

Gesturing for the two Winchester boys to follow, he went back to his usual seat and noticed Gabriel had moved to sit on Kali's other side, leaving the seat next to him empty that Sam appeared to miss entirely so Dean sat next to him. Eyes narrowed at his brother, the other merely shrugged with that same grin before popping a fritter into his mouth and talking to Kali, who pushed his face away with a firm, "Chew and swallow before you talk."

Gabriel did.

Seeing as the two Winchester's had little idea who was who, Castiel took it upon himself to introduce them. There was Uriel, Anna and Gabriel, who Sam did not know and was happy to talk to after some initial awkwardness of what to do. Then there was Rafaela, Kali, and Pamela, who neither of the two knew. Despite Gabriel going on about how it was going to be this huge party, it ended up being small and he appreciated that because yes, he could lecture in a class as large as fifty, perhaps more if he ever decided to move onto teaching at Cal States, but putting him directly in the centre of attention when he did not have to teach or present findings and all his skills went out the window.

This was nice, this was the right amount of people he could still talk to comfortably and he was currently in the middle of explaining what this particular fritter was made from to Dean after he noticed he picked one up and was turning it between his fingers. When he got to explaining that it was, "Gabriel's idea since it goes well with sauvignon blanc and he wanted to have a toast," he noticed the reaction to it and it was instinctive by now to formulate a way to take it away, it was wrong, that should not be here, Dean should be happy.

"Come with me, I have something to show you."

Excusing himself and the other, he got up, the male following the action and tilting his head at him, which he smiled at and motioned him to come with him inside the house. Once they were in the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator to pull out a small bottle, it would look like a mini-champagne bottle at first glance, not that it stopped him from going to a cabinet and pulling out two glasses. When he turned back, Dean was already holding the bottle and reading what it was then looking back at him.

"Gabriel is a wine connoisseur if there ever was one, I've never taken to it. He always likes to joke that I'm a prude, won't drink even for a toast to celebrate being licensed. Joke's on him, I think, he won't get to enjoy this."

Hand held out, he took the bottle from the neck, acutely aware that he should not have held on like that as long as he did and covering it up with a smile before unscrewing the top. Pouring out two glasses, he waited for Dean to take one and took his own after.

"I believe I'm supposed to say something for a toast and I'm unsure what to say. Congratulations to me? Sounds egotistical. So… simply congratulations seems fitting, to everyone who has and who will accomplish something they've strived for."

Dean sniffed.

Castiel smiled.

Their glasses clinked together.

\---

Sam was engrossed in a conversation with Uriel's wife, Rafaela, about her experience in law school–though she was not a lawyer, so he wondered what she did for a living–when Gabriel suddenly plopped down on the chair next to him.

"Hey there, Sammy boy."

"Uh, hi."

"How about you and me have a little talk?"

He was a pretty good conversationalist, managed to warm up to everyone here in no time at all, they had some really good tips for school and interesting stories. A one on one conversation was not exactly the same thing and Dean was still off somewhere inside with Castiel and then Kali piped in.

"I'll know if he's being inappropriate, you'll be fine."

Something about Kali had him getting up and moving, walking along their spot on the patio to under the gazebo, not having a chance to ask what was up.

"I know your brother has the hots for mine and the other way around."

Way to be blunt.

"Uhm… okay? If you know, why are you telling me?"

This might come as more of a surprise to him if he had not seen them interacting a few days ago, reflected on everything since Dean went out with Castiel the first time and his reactions whenever he teased about it being dates. It was obvious in a lot of things, regarding how they interacted, and it was not that Sam did not approve, he would always approve if it made his brother happy, he simply did not have confidence in the fact that it would go anywhere beyond what was now.

Dean would never make a move, had this ridiculous notion that prevented him from doing anything good for himself and kept him locked up in his room instead. Castiel… well, who knew. The guy seemed like he could barely stand being close to anyone, even his own brother, he was still wearing those gloves and if he really did have this uncanny ability to understand everything Dean said and such, he probably knew that about his brother and would never say anything if he reciprocated.

"Because they're both idiots and need a shove in the right direction," Gabriel looked back to check they were not coming out and sighed, "Look, Cas hasn't expressed any interest in another in freaking years and the last time he did, it blew up in his face because he's… well, your brother has his demons and shit, my brother has his. But, they get each other, it can be puppies and rainbows for them, all they need is some help."

Sam glanced at the house, seeing that Castiel and Dean had come back out, the professor was laughing and making some gesture with his hands, his brother shook his head, waving a hand, and actually opened his mouth, nothing he could hear came out though he was certain it was some noise again before looking at Gabriel.

"So, what'd you have in mind?"

Damn it, Dean was going to have his happiness.

Not that Dean would ever believe that he deserved it, of course not. No, his life should be like it was now and even then, he had a lot more than he thought he should. And of fucking course, he was not a good person and kept indulging in all of what he should not have, one selfish fucker, always selfish and taking what he was given. He ended up taking some random psychology class this quarter, one Uriel was teaching because he had taken all the ones Castiel was teaching this quarter, being a slightly shorter one of only five weeks. And he swung by the other's office at least once a week and they still went out and it was days after finals that Sam came up to him in the living room.

"So… Castiel's birthday is soon."

Dean sniffed.

"And, it'd be cool if you, you know, got him something. I talked to Gabriel already about what to get him."

He knew that Sam was like buddies or something with Gabriel, he had this natural, friendly disposition that attracted people to him and Gabriel was not the only of the professors he had gotten along with, he was simply the one he mentioned the most. He stared at his brother, eyes narrowed and his nose twitched, which made him grin and reach for a piece of paper.

"Good. Here's what Gabriel told me he likes. I think the third one would be good or fourth, I got him the magnets and board game he told me about."

Dean took the list and read it through. They were simple enough things, things he could have pieced together from what he knew of the man already. A few were things he might have not guessed, like he liked peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, not jam, never jam, it was even underlined. Or that he liked candles that smelt like linen, but he especially liked the ones that smelt like cherries.

Three and four, they were not something like that and he could do it, yeah, it was going to take some time was all and he was unsure if he even should. He could record everything again, that would help and he guessed it would not be on the list of Gabriel thought he sucked at it or whatever.

First step, find a suitable recipe. Castiel was lactose intolerant, so that threw out the traditional ways and he did not like additives, which meant it should be all natural and good stuff. Organic, right? Organic was good, he would still treat it like regular, wash it and all, just to be safe. Everything was screenshot and then he went to look for the second part of this gift, which was not pertaining to food, though he might as well do it now.

The second step was going to the store, something he did the next day, and sure, he knew it was necessary to come to this Whole Foods because when organic food was thought of, this place came to mind since Farmer's Markets were not available this day, though he could really do without the fucking stares like he was some kind of stray dog that wandered in and was licking his own ass.

That prompted him to get this over with as soon as possible, picking the best apples and getting these dates and everything else before going to pay for it. It was irritating how the cashier kept asking if he had anything else in his cart that he forgot to scan, then talking to him like he was a fucking five year old and _good job_ for being able to pick his own apples and then grab some packets of dates, _gold star,_ pat on the head, what a _big boy._

Everyone thought he was stupid, it was happening as obviously as it was now for three years, like somehow his physical deformities also meant he was brain deficient and had to be treated the way so many treated him and waking up and putting on his pants was a major accomplishment.

How far he was going to get in life from now was not much, he had accepted that. He was never going to get a fancy Bachelor's degree or Master's, he was going be stuck doing temp jobs through an agency, Sammy was going to leave him, that was it. And yeah, he made stupid choices before, ridiculously stupid choices that screwed over a lot of people and even then, he was not inept in everything.

Some things, not everything.

Like, this pie, for example, he was very good at following the recipe for this pie, despite never having made a single raw thing in his life. It was slightly more of a challenge to get it all on camera this time around, it was not like the tea and he was proud of how he managed it nonetheless. They were small pies, three in total that he could more or less fit in the palm of his hand without it falling over and they were the best goddamn things he had made in a long time.

Hopefully, Castiel actually liked them.

Since he had ordered the second part to this gift and had express shipping, it had arrived the day before the man's birthday and Sam had given him a small gift bag to put it in. The professor had already accepted his invitation to Starbucks and that was cool, totally cool, he was not trying to find a way out of it or anything, not like he thought his gifts were shit or anything and he was only going to accept them because he could never hurt a person's feelings.

Not at all.

It was sitting in his lap, the gift bag and small treat box housing the pies, the whole time on the bus and then carried carefully until he arrived at Starbucks, Castiel already there and by this point, Dean had adjusted to seeing him in casual clothing. He had looked up from his phone when he set the things down on the table, startling a little, something that was out of place. Recently, he noticed that, he was kind of jumpy now and again, twiddling his thumbs or trying to pick his way through his gloves or going off on tangents about something he was teaching in class that he learnt was a good indication that the man was nervous.

Why, he had no idea.

"Oh. Hello, Dean. My apologies, I didn't see you when you came in."

Dean huffed as he sat down before taking out his own phone and bringing up the video to hand over along with sliding over the treat box. The professor took it, peered into the box and smiled as he allowed the video to play, watching it all the way through and giving the phone back.

"Thank you, Dean. I… I'm not sure how to properly convey my gratitude."

Dean blinked.

The professor smiled as he opened up the box to get a better look at the mini pies, hesitating for a second once the top was off and he was gripping one of his gloves. A hard thing to do, if he was trying to do what he thought he was, he gathered, from how he clenched his jaw for a few seconds before tugging the glove off. Now, Dean never thought ill of the guy, never judged what he did, that was a given by this point, he thought everything but ill, to be honest. Yet, the sight of his hand, as brutalised as it was with self-inflicted cuts from scratching too long and swollen spots around his fingernails concerned him because there were certainly not near that many last–first–time he saw his hands.

Whatever made him nervous, maybe that was also stressing him out.

These contemplations stayed in his head even as Castiel reached in for one of the mini pies, raised it to eye level to get a better look at it then took a bite. His smile was worth the effort, it was an adorable thing to see, still somewhat muted, and maybe he was a fuck up in a lot of things, yeah, and one thing he had not fucked up in was making the guy smile.

"It's very delicious. You ought to try it, if you haven't already."

The man manoeuvred so he took off the other glove–not as bad looking as his right hand, probably because his dominant hand did all the scratching–without directly touching it so as to split the pie in half with the upmost care and hold out the unbitten half. Dean took it, careful not to brush their fingers together, and ate it.

Huh. For not being the freshly baked, cooling on the window sill apple pie, it was pretty damn good.

Waiting until the other finished his half and had done what he needed before the gloves went back on and the box was closed, he nudged the gift bag over to him. It was not a freaking sappy gift or anything, rather simple, in all honesty and it fit due to that simplicity.

Castiel had taken the bag and removed the sheet of tissue paper, looking inside and pulling out a small folded paper that was opened up.

_Happy birthday, Cas._

_– Dean_

It was a new experience to be made so unbelievably happy with four words and by the same token, it was a little frightening. The professor recognised the fact that he had plenty of old wounds that he had sort of merely sprayed with a liquid bandage and hoped it was good enough, that he should deal with the issues in a healthy manner, he had over a year's worth of conducting therapy to know what should be done.

Yet, it was easier to simply… _not_ do it.

Immerse himself in teaching and therapy for others was easier, helping others was easier, it made him happy to do that. It was easier than thinking about his childhood, about how university was, about how things turned out after his last date with Daphne and how much it hurt, everything that followed, how he never quite understood the saying that someone "tore out my heart and stomped on it," until then, it was easy and he liked it and it was a very bad thing he did.

It was not that he thought he loved Daphne with all his heart, he rationalised he might be too young and too inexperienced with people to accurately define what love was, although he would say that the capacity he had to care for another, all of it was utilised with her. Yes, he was awkward and stilted, her friends confused him a lot, he knew they did not necessarily approve of him, he was not "boyfriend material" to them, and Daphne still defended him, said it was not his fault, that he was trying, she supported him.

At least, until it was too much even for her, _he_ was too much, she could not handle him and his ways any longer, must have been too much of a burden, must have hurt her too much every time she tried to so much as touch him, he would panic and run away. Their last date was a sort of one final effort to repair their relationship of a year and a half and Castiel tried, he tried so hard, he repeated, over and over, one touch, that was it, that was all it would take, hold her hand for at least a moment, he had gloves, it was okay, he would be okay. Except, she tried to kiss him and he panicked, he panicked to the point where he had barely managed to call Gabriel for help, he was so certain he was dying.

Dying might have been easier than what followed.

So, he buried the memories, acted like he did not remember much of the relationship, like he could not exactly recall Daphne or anything they did, it was easier, it hurt less, he could concentrate more on the present. Still, there were some things he simply could not forget, what it felt like, how her smile made him smile, the warmth, how happy she made him.

That was why it scared him, why he was so anxious about it, why he thought he should stop it, why he thought he was not good enough and he could hear her voice in his head every time telling him so. Gabriel did what he could, he did, supported him and kept telling him to not listen to that, she was gone, she had no hold on him anymore, and to just do it, it would be fine.

What if it was not?

Dean never said anything that would indicate otherwise, the thought still stayed. Gabriel said do it, to trust him, it would be okay and even offered to drive him this time if he really needed it, if he needed to take something to calm his anxiety levels and he had taken it.

That did not make the happiness lessen because it was nothing more than a simple, generic note, that was true. In spite of that, it was different from what he normally got from Dean, more personal than anything he had ever given him and he thought that was the best present he could give him. Not that he ignored the other thing in the bag, pulling out a phone case inside. White, with three honey bees on it, a drone, a worker, and queen bee and the words Apis mellifera above them.

Tracing the design, Castiel laughed quietly and smiled. It made the warmth blossom in his chest and he knew he should be more careful, he should step away from this, he was still scared because it hurt so much last time, he ended up being more of a burden than anything else. Gabriel said he was not and Dean never said so, maybe it was his anxiety getting the better of him, his brother told him to take the risk, had been for awhile now, that everything was going to be okay, nothing was going to go wrong, it was not a loss of control, nothing bad was going to happen.

"I love it. Thank you."

Nothing bad was going to happen.

The professor took out his phone, popping off his current case–it was a simple, snap on black one–and snapping this one on, examining it before slowly letting out a breath.

_You disappoint me, Castiel._

Nothing bad was going to happen.

"Dean, I… remember what I said, when I told you that Starbucks was not the location I would select?"

_Cas, I just can't! I'm sorry, I **can't** do it anymore!_

Nothing bad was going to happen.

Dean sniffed.

"I was wondering if… if you might indulge me? I believe that I have found a suitable location and it would be… very enjoyable, I think."

_You didn't deserve her! You don't deserve **anyone!**_

Nothing bad was going to happen.

His hands were already clawing at each other, trying to rip into the skin, his heart pounding, what if this was wrong, what if he did this wrong, what if Dean thought he was wrong, it was uncalled for, he should have stayed quiet, Gabriel was probably wrong about this, everything was going to go _wrong-_

A rap against the table had his eyes darting back to the other who dropped his gaze to his hands then sniffed. Castiel blinked, hands slowing to a stop and Dean tilted his head, sniffing again. It registered sluggishly, the answer he received, and the man had to place both his hands flat on the table, let out a confirmative noise that sounded like a slurred, incomprehensible word more than anything, and nodded once before it sunk in completely.

Nothing bad happened.

Dean sniffed.

And Castiel felt more than happy to smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's that, they have a date, isn't that nice?
> 
> Poor Castiel, first relationship and it ended horribly, he's got a lot of internalised blame towards himself and I wanted to put this in to highlight certain things that I hope are understood. Though, when he asked Dean on a date, did you see the similarity in how he's asked him other things before? Or maybe it's just me because I write this and think it's cute. And Dean, well, his thoughts about being asked on a date are going to be covered next chapter, although he's still not certain even now that he deserves it. But look at him, opening up more, using his vocal folds a tiny bit, hooray for progress. Although their thoughts are everywhere, it's so new to them, been so long. 
> 
> Sam and Gabriel, not so much, they're getting along well, haha.
> 
> And, I had to look up houses in Palo Alto, the ones I found in the area were so fancy, I actually based it off the least expensive house I saw on the list.
> 
> If I have any more notes, I'll add them.
> 
> Have a fantastic day! And take care of yourselves! c:


	10. August

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dates are nice until life is a dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the newest chapter, sorry it's so late. The week was terrible, the weekend was worse and just ewh. I did have a nice encounter with the sweetest homeless man, though, we had lunch together and went grocery shopping and all together. I hope he's warm and found a nice spot to rest. 
> 
> Anyway, that's rambling, I don't think there's any warnings to put that aren't already in the tags. 
> 
> Enjoy! :D

A park.

Castiel's idea of a first date was a park. Dean had looked up the address when he had gotten home and it was a park nearby. Then he thought about how nervous the professor was when he asked, fidgeting and picking at his gloves, it may have been why he was so jumpy the whole time, he did seem more relaxed after he said yes, so he probably did put a lot of thought into it and was still uncertain if it was a good location.

A subject they had never really talked about was past relationships, something he was immensely grateful for, his track record was not a bed of roses. Plenty of beds, yeah, but likely not in a way anyone thought of as good. The professor, he had no idea if he had ever been in a relationship or on a date, or with another dude before. Homeschooled and blowing through university, along with just who he was as a person, a relationship did not seem like it would be at the top of his list. Or maybe it was and he was being presumptuous, who knew.

Either way, this seemed like the wrong thing to do. Not that he regretted his answer–honestly, a good chunk of him was overjoyed at being asked out, a part he tried to turn a blind eye to–it was merely that he did not deserve this. Castiel was a good guy, like a blank sheet of paper, clean, unsullied. Yeah, he might have a few crinkles or bent corners, from his environment growing up and what he dealt with on a daily basis, though it never made him a bad guy. Then there was him, who was torn and put back together with shoddy tape, stained with blood and dirt and scribbles everywhere with how fucked up he was and the moment he got too close, all of that would be like some gross sort of polluted glitter exploding on him, corrupting him an the infernal thing would never go away, it happened to everyone he got close to, always.

And he was a selfish, disgusting piece of paper because he still did this, he still got too close. Stupid brain and human desire for companionship, it could go suck a lemon. Stupid preferences. Stupid everything.

Okay, he could do this. If he was super careful, treated carefully, then he would not get gross, corrupt glitter on him, he could manage that, right? Right. He was good. He was. He was good. He could do this.

This mantra rattled around in his head up until the day of when he arrived at the park. Walking by the parking lot, he entertained the thought of what car could possibly belong to the professor. Maybe that Prius. Or that Kia. Or that Audi, that would be interesting. This came and left as he walked further into the park and saw Castiel sitting in the grass, under the shade the trees provided and on his phone. Something sort of new, he always saw him sitting in chairs, standing, or leaning against the desk at the front of the class, not sitting as casual as can be on a thin blanket and certainly not it only a short sleeve black tee with yellow text spelling out, "Save the bees." Short sleeves was new, he always kept his jacket on rather than neatly folded up beside him. Not that he was complaining or anything, it was the first time he saw him in person instead of in a video, which did not do him much justice. As soon as he was within hearing range, the other had looked up from his phone, smiling lightly when he reached the edge of the blanket.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean blinked.

Looking down at the blanket, he knelt down to his right knee first, putting all his weight onto it and plopping on his ass before taking his time in grabbing his other leg and pulling it in, seated well enough. His leg could do it on its own, bend and move and all, limited some and easily exerted, so he usually avoided sitting like this or used his hands to guide it.

Done with that, he stared at the professor, nose twitching as he gave a soft snort and getting a tiny smile in response.

"I'm glad you like it here. I haven't… it's been about six years since I've been on a date, so my skills are… rusty, I think."

He snorted, a low noise humming in his throat, broken up enough that it could probably pass off as some attempt of a laugh. He was correct in thinking that it had been a long time for the male, at least. Although he had divulged that information without any real prompting, the pauses in between made it seem like it was serious, something he did expect from him, hardly seemed the type for flings, and pursed his lips together.

Would not hurt to say anything, right?

Nah, the guy already knew more about him than anyone else outside of Sam and stayed. If this was what did it, then alright. Hands lifted up, he held up eight fingers, to which the other nodded to, "I suppose it's been awhile for both of us, then." Though, when Dean dropped his hands and his eyes, shaking his head once, the man paused and seemed to understand, "I see," here it was, he was going to tell him this was a bad idea, "I studied. And drank an alarming amount of caffeine, which I now see wasn't a good idea, it only made my anxiety and such worse."

Dean looked up at him, eyes narrowed and Castiel smiled, shrugging a shoulder.

"I'm not exactly the ideal candidate to partake in that kind of coping method, I always used studying to escape."

That was unexpected, yet really should not be. Most would have called him a womaniser or a hell of a lot worse for what he did, he just told him what he did instead and was reaching for the bag he had, pulling out two little sandwich shaped Tupperware to hold one out. A sandwich, obviously, that he took and popped the top of the container.

It was peanut butter and jelly. It was stupidly happiness inducing that he would share his favourite food with him and endearing and shit, what did he get himself into that he thought a _freaking sandwich_ was endearing?

Awh, fuck.

Okay, stay at a distance. He was good, he was, he was good, he could do this. He also took the little to go carton of milk–Castiel admitted he had no idea what he was doing when at the store staring at all the milk brands, but Gabriel said chocolate milk went good with it–and they talked, pretty much about anything that came to mind, it was a nice day, not too different from how they went about any other time they went out.

Well, they were closer, he supposed that was different. Being on this blanket, they were not at normal arm length's away, he could set his hands down simply to lean back a little and there he was. Since he was eating, the man's gloves were off and he was glad to see they looked like they were getting better. Once, he even set his hand down kind of close, for a few seconds then pulled away, thumb rubbing his palm instead of picking at his skin.

That meant he was doing better, yeah?

He hoped so.

This happened another time, him setting down his hand and retracting it, before Castiel let out a soft huff of… something. Frustration? Anger? Something. Dean tapped his fingers, wondering what had suddenly gotten to him. The male was staring at his hand, clenching it into a fist and unclenching, frowning at it.

"Dean, if you don't mind my asking… how does… how does it feel? To hold someone's hand?"

How to answer that, he had no clue.

The longer he thought, the longer he wondered if he had simply taken it all for granted, the fact that he could hold someone's hand and be perfectly alright with it, just passed it off as nothing, skin, hand, whatever. Castiel clearly could not. If he was asking, then it must have been that he never did it himself before, which then he pondered if he was in a serious relationship, but never held hands with the other person…

Oh.

So, this was important, he put all the thought he could into it, brow furrowed and lips pursed. When he finally came up with something, a noise left his mouth and he lifted his hand, maintaining eye contact with him.

He could do this, Dean believed he could.

Castiel did not break eye contact, clenching his jaw and swallowing thickly. Only to look at his own hand for a second did he look away, feeling his heart beginning to race. But Dean had never done wrong by him, not once. He respected what limitations he had, never asked for more of him and he made some sort of elongated noise, like he was trying to say something and it was all slurring together, mashed into this sound that he responded to with a nod.

"I trust you."

Because he did, he raised his hand and kept it steady, biting his tongue as he waited and watched Dean nod to his both his hands, almost like cupping them together yet keeping them from touching, repeating the action for him to see. Once he did, he lifted his right hand again and brought it towards his slowly, checking if he was going to tell him to stop. Seeing as he did not, he nodded to give him fair warning and carefully, started to close his hand.

He never touched him, not once, Castiel stared at their hands, his hand was shaking, his fingers were twitching and trembling as he tried to close them, he could feel his heart trying to beat its way right through his chest. What he also felt was the warmth radiating off Dean's hand, how the air passed between the small gap between their hands, it was a fascinating feeling how they were never touching, yet there was the sensation of it, of Dean's hand on his.

If he could just… close his hand all the way, do it like anyone else could…

He did not.

Dean pulled his hand back, setting it back down on his lap and tilting his head at him. The sensation wore off quickly enough and he wished it had not, it was surely not like the real deal, but it was the closest he got. Nonetheless, disappointed in its briefness, he smiled at the other, fingers curling into a fist and held close.

"Thank you, Dean. That was a very interesting experience."

Dean hummed.

Date days became kind of common and the park was their go to place. They sometimes went other places, to Castiel's house, even to the apartment and they did fun stuff, watch movies and stuff. Date stuff, he supposed. And he loved them, he did, learnt more about the professor. Like, despite his aversion to gardening himself, he knew an impressive amount about it, flowers, trees, insects, all of it and he was at least forty-five percent sure that the reason their garden at home thrived was because he told Gabriel what to do about half the time.

Not something surprising to find out, but that despite the positive ball of sunshine Castiel could be, he had some pretty bad slumps. One day, when he had arrived, he was surprised to see bags under his eyes and his hair a ruffled up mess. It turned out he had hit a snag in his therapy and it was all sort of downhill from there, a depressive episode punched him in the face and he was stressing out because he thought he was not giving his students all he could this quarter, which was terrible to him because midterms were coming up soon.

Now, Dean was not entirely certain what he could do to take it away altogether, he knew depression was a douche to deal with, medication or no. Maybe tell him he was doing great in stats so far–yeah, he already took all the math he needed years ago, maybe he just wanted another class with him, so what?–and not to worry. Likely he still would. His solution, clearly, had been making some intelligible series of noise in his throat and urge him to follow him through the park. Castiel had followed up until the playground, befuddled.

"What are we doing here?"

The answer ended up being cleaning a swing as much as he possibly could and grabbed onto the chain, jingling it and urging him.

"Dean, I've never been on a swing before. What if I break it? I weigh too much, it's meant for children."

A deadpan stare.

"I'm sure children might want to use it soon."

Dean tapped over his heart, pointed up then to the swing. The professor eyed the swing and relented, getting on cautiously and holding on, simply sitting there, tense and awaiting it to somehow break. Well, that was no fun, it was not any thrill or possibly cheer him up. So, he grabbed onto the chains and took a few steps back. Good upper body strength, still, at least, this part was easy. The next part was a little more difficult, running forward to give him a solid start, letting go and moving away to the side, watching the male go. The swing creaked every back and forth motion and Castiel's wide eyes darted to him, he bet he was clutching onto the chains enough to reshape the damn things.

"Dean, it's going to _break!_ I'm too heavy for this!"

He shook his head and did the kicking motions with his fingers, taking deep breaths as loud as he could to help him through it. Eventually, he got the hang of it and Dean instructed him to tilt his head back, look up, little things he remembered enjoying on the swings and he got a laugh out of him at one point, he counted this a success, he barely noticed that some of the sound was coming from him, not as loud, but there.

It freaked him out when he first noticed it, that something was coming out of him and he was supposed to just shut the fuck up. Yet, Castiel seemed happy to hear it, or something. And he tried to rationalise because of that. It was not speaking, not using words, just noise. That was okay, right? He was good.

He was good.

And, if he only made noises and it was just with Castiel, that was okay, right?

Right?

Right.

And, whether he said anything verbally or not, Castiel ended up understanding what he was saying either way, which was spooky at first, he was eerily good at it. Merely a part of what made him Castiel, that was it. The professor was currently trying to stop the swing, enough fun for now, skidding his feet against the sand to slow himself down and Dean waved his hand to get his attention, shaking his head and motioning with his fingers to jump off, an option he clearly never entertained with how big his eyes were.

"What if I don't do it right? I'll break something!"

Dean snorted, pushing himself off the pole he was leaning on and making his way to where he guessed the other would land, a little off to the side, arms held out and gave a nod. Kind of a shitty reassurance for someone with an aversion for being touched, though trust exercises or whatever they were called, they were supposed to help.

At least, he thinks that was what they were meant for.

His arms had dropped to give him room and he waited to see what he would decide. If he did not jump, that was fine. It scared the crap out of him when he was a kid first on the swings. However, the professor seemed to not back down from it and went with it, jumping and managing a pretty solid land right beside him. One of those giddy little chuckles came out of the other as he looked back at the swing then at him.

"That was… exhilarating. I can see why it's an activity enjoyed at all ages. Thank you, Dean."

Dean blinked.

The thanks was probably for a lot of different things, things Dean had no problem with giving, it was the least he could do and that broken up sound came from him again when the man grimaced slightly as he commented the shock to his feet when landing could have been less.

As the date was ending, they were walking down the trail when Dean recalled his thought the first time they went out regarding Castiel's car. He knew he drove here, he did not do public transportation, the same way he knew he never mentioned his car or pulled out his keys or anything related to cars when he was with him. A super considerate gesture, yeah, he appreciated it. Although, Castiel had done all these sorts of things for him since he first walked into his class and he felt he did not give enough in return. Hell, the guy risked being booted from teaching at college because he knew he would not talk.

Knowing what his car was may not sound big, but he thought it was.

So, he caught his attention before gesturing to the cars. The male blinked at the request then nodded.

"Alright. I don't think it's anything special though."

When he would look back on this moment, as he surely would many, many times, Dean would never be able to tell if this was a good thing, a bad thing, or honestly a Dean thing because his life was this monumentally fucked up and the universe liked squashing him like a bug.

Seemed innocent, at first, Castiel reached in for his keys and no biggie, he knew that was coming, little remote and car key along with some other keys of his. All cool, it was fine. They walked down the parking lot and alright, cars, stationary cars, he could handle that. And then they actually were going to a car, one specific car, there was no other way it could be any other but that one, the spaces around were empty and it was the moment he saw the sleek paint job, model, everything, he was certain he completely lost his marbles and let out a wretched, blood chilling scream.

Blood, fire, fire, flesh burning, dad, fuck, dad, blood, glass, gas, gas, _flesh burning,_ horns, _horns honking,_ cars, God, dad, wake up, dad, fire, burning, burning, his leg, his face, dad, blood, _blood everywhere,_ honking, honking, cars.

_The Impala._

"… Dean!"

Dean had no idea he was screaming, he was screaming and on his knees, shaking his head, hands tugging at his hair, gasping, stop it, _fire,_ burning, burning, glass, bleeding, dad, no, his fault, his fault, it hurt, it burnt, burnt so much, dad, _wake up,_ horns, do not look, foul stench, burning flesh, glass, glass in his lungs, glass, glass everywhere, glass on his face, shrieking, creaking metal, blood.

"Dean. Listen to my voice. Breathe, deep breaths. In and out."

No, no, no, no, blood, glass, fire, glass, wheezing, air, air, dad, _oh God,_ blood everywhere, blood, death, death, _he was dead,_ his fault, _all his fault,_ dad, no, no, no-!

"Dean, you're okay. You're okay. You're safe. Listen to me, listen to my voice, you're okay. Breath for me."

Soft, soft and warm, fire, blood, soft, fire, burning flesh, linen, forest, burning, flesh, linen, honking, voice, talking, horns, voice, whispering, close, glass, glass on his face, in his leg, in his lungs, soft, soft and warm, loose, hurt, pain, warm, soft.

"You're safe, Dean. Just breathe, in and out. It's alright. I'm not leaving, it's okay. I'm right here. I'm not leaving you."

Voice, a voice, air, linen and forest, a voice, a feeling, no creaking metal, no pressure, rise and fall, rise and fall, linen and forest, linen and forest, a voice, low and smooth, not in pain, no burning flesh, no fire, soft and warm.

"I'm not leaving you, Dean. I'm right here with you. It's alright, you're safe. It's okay."

The struggle back to coherency was a bitch, separate between then and now, both clashing too much to get a sense of right and wrong, what was now, what was then, what was any of this. Linen and forest, soft and warm, low and smooth, that was now, it was now, he refused to open his eyes still, feeling the licks of flames and prickles of glass, he waited until they went away, until he was fully in the now to grasp the situation.

Low and smooth, it was Castiel, Castiel was talking to him, murmuring quietly by his ear. Linen and forest, that was how he smelt, that was what he had come to associate with him. Soft and warm, to his utter surprise–he should stop being so surprised, honestly–was also Castiel. He was positioned in a way that he could no longer see the car and he figured the surprise was that he was leaning on the other, against his chest, hands clutching onto his arms as tightly as he could and the professor had his arms wrapped around him. Loosely, though he could still feel him, along with every breath he took.

Oh fuck, _Castiel was holding him._

In his haste to look up at him and extract himself, he nearly knocked his head against his chin, thankfully missing and his efforts got him on his ass, in the parking lot, with Castiel sitting right there, a small smile on his face.

"I'm glad you're alright."

Castiel _touched_ him.

He touched him because he could not handle seeing a fucking car and the selfless guy was sitting on the filthy asphalt, having held him, pretty much hugged him close to give him a sense of security and comfort, smiling, telling him he was glad he was okay.

Jesus Christ, what about him?

Smile or not, he could see how he was tensing up, the strain in trying to keep up the smile, the pretence that this had not fucked him over ten ways to Sunday, throat undulating, his hands shaking, he was even beginning to blink rapidly, probably trying not to tear up, entire body trembling for the exertion of getting up as collectedly as possible, and fuck, his voice was high and breaking, strangled, when he spoke up again.

"I-I think… excuse me, please."

And he darted off. Dean followed, slower than him because fuck, the guy could run. It also might have something to do with fumbling for his phone, the fact that he was fucking exhausted from what just happened, and trying to bring up his messages once his phone was unlocked. All things considered, he did an average job and he shot off a message to Gabriel, throwing his no text rule out the window for the occasion because what the fuck was he supposed to do, take pictures of him freaking out?

That was inappropriate to like the nth degree.

_Park. Cas. Bathroom. Help._

Good enough because he got a reply in under a minute.

_Be there in ten._

By the time Dean got to the bathroom, it was quite a sight to behold. The water was running, all it could, rushing out undisturbed because Castiel was pacing in jerky movements, hands in his hair pulling, chest heaving and painful sounding wheezes leaving him. He was hunched over a little, every few steps getting closer to the sink then these broken little phrases leaving him as he recoiled from it, the whistling, rattling noise that was his air getting higher and more wounded the longer he did this.

Why was he not doing it?

It was one of those compulsive behaviours he had, one he was not all that proud of, yeah, but it would help take his anxiety down a notch. What he was doing was making it worse, if anything, and he picked up a few words from him that helped make it a little clearer.

"… _not_ going to get sick and die…"

"… don't need it, _don't need it,_ stop it…"

"… stop, stop, stop, she was wrong, _don't listen…"_

His therapy.

He had hit a wall in his therapy and he was trying to forcefully hurdle his way over it right now. Fuck, he had made it so he had to face it without a chance to prepare for it. There was very little he could do right now and he did it all.

First, he went over to turn off the water, something that made Castiel stop pacing and it seemed the pacing was giving him some sense of composure because Jesus, he looked and sounded about twenty times worse now, his breaths were horrible, how was he still vertical, probably how he had one hand against the wall, bent over some so that his other hand was on his knee. The second thing he could do is get his phone and bring up the music he had.

This happened once before, except he had not been the cause, that was Hael. But, same thing would work, yes? God, he hoped so. _Hey Jude_ started playing, loud enough to hear over the attempts of air taken in and the final thing he could do was drop to his knees, grunting at the shock sent up his left leg. Did not matter at all, what did was getting down low enough so he could catch the professor's eyes, slapping his fingers against his palm to catch the other's attention and taking slow, deep breaths once he did.

It was beginning to hurt his chest, taking these unnecessarily deep breaths, kind of too slow for him right now, he was breathing generally alright before this but the shit thing was, that was only true because of Castiel and now he was freaking the fuck out due to helping him. So, he could take the discomfort for this, just keep eye contact with him and try and direct him through all this.

When it did not work right away, he started panicking, thinking it was something much too out of his league, what if the guy passed out, fuck, no, he was going to be alright. And, as the song was ending and restarting, it appeared he was, to a small extent, the odd squeaks that came from every attempt at an inhale lessened and it was sounding less and less choked out. Better, yeah, he was going to be okay, he kept him following his breathing, perfectly alright.

He was good, he was, he was helping, he was good.

Fuck, no, he was not, he hurt him. He got too close and he ended up hurting him. That fucking foul glitter, it touched him, just a smidgen, and this was what happened. Goddamn it, he knew he should not have done this, it was all his fault, all of it.

_"… D-Dean."_

Castiel was trying to grab his attention, sounding like he had gone too many damn rounds, cheeks still flush and light sheen of sweat on his face. It was obvious he was still not okay, the professor had gotten through the "holy fuck, I'm going to die from a heart attack," yes, but there was more to it than that.

"S-stop blaming yourself… i-it was… was _my_ choice…"

Dean stared.

Castiel tried to smile.

"I-I can… can tell… you speak… very loudly, d-didn't you know? So please… _please don't."_

Dean could not fucking believe this guy. He was trying to get over a panic attack, he should be focusing on getting better and the freaking guy was worried about what he was thinking, trying to make him feel better. Before he could say anything, someone else had come inside.

"Cas? Dean?"

Gabriel had come around and moved in, Dean stepping back and letting him take over. Things were asked like if he took his pills, did he need him to get them, and he watched it all happen, uncertain what more he could do. It was all kind of slow and like pulling out teeth one by one, hearing Castiel answer, exhaustion evident, but then it was all coming to an end and they made their way out of the bathroom, the professor directing his attention to him, a tired smile pulling a this lips.

"I apologise, it seems I have to cut this date short. Please do remember what I said."

"You alright to make it on your own, Dean-o?"

Dean sniffed.

And he walked away.

He also never showed up for classes.

In the eleven months Dean had been attending the college, he had not once missed class for any reason. It was wrong to miss classes, it could really screw one over, especially in the more fast pace classes. Yet, he came up with the excuse that he already knew stats, that was the only class he had this quarter, it was not going to bite him in the ass and if it did, he deserved it. This was his fault, all his fault, he got too close and he fucked up and he did not deserve to see him, in any capacity whatsoever.

So he skipped the whole week of class after the park incident.

And now this was the second week, Sam had not yet caught on, he left earlier than him and arrived later, so he was happy to continue sleeping the whole day away, wrapped in his blankets and possibly metaphorical ones of self-loathing and bitterness. Would have kept doing it, too, well past two in the afternoon, were it not for the knocks on the door.

Did Sam forget his keys?

Goddamn it, this was the fourth time this month and they were only in the third week.

Making his way over and opening the door, his annoyance shifted to surprise at who was on the other side.

"Hello, Dean."

Castiel looked nervous to be there, shifting his weight and eyes darting down, to the side, then to him. His hand reached to flip open his messenger bag, pulling out some papers and holding them out, "Here are your notes." Dean stared at them blankly and the professor faltered some, "I'd be lying if I said this was the only reason I came."

Dean sniffed.

"The truth is… I came to apologise. I'm not… I don't…" He let out a frustrated sigh, running his hand through his hair, effectively ruining any sense of neatness it had, "I'm terrible at relationships. Because I… I know I can't do things like others can, I might not ever be able to. A lot of people have come to resent that about me, believe I'm not worth socialising with, not worth the effort. And I understand that. I do. So, if that's… that's what it is, I understand. It can remain strictly professional, whenever you need assistance in for school, I won't ask for anything more than that of you."

Castiel thought he wanted to stop going out with him because of him.

Dumbly, he took the papers, at a loss for what to respond with. Why he never considered that the professor was self-conscious about this baffled him. He knew he looked hurt when mentioning a prior relationship, knew he never held hands with whoever it was, did any of the "normal" stuff, yet he never stopped to think that actually was something that actually made him feel this terrible and demean himself, like that alone meant he was not worth any time of day.

Fuck, and he cut him off directly after what happened in the park. He could have told him, could have mentioned why he did and _Jesus,_ he could only imagine what the other had concocted in his head was the reason for that, he knew the brain could be a bitch when it came to matters like these.

He must think Dean hated him.

That must be because he no longer had that muted little smile or spark in his eyes, he merely coughed awkwardly and pushed up his glasses.

"Have a lovely day. You can schedule your midterm for next week, all the material you need is in the notes, I attached a study guide."

Castiel was leaving, walking down the hall, thinking he _hated him,_ when that was the farthest thing from the truth, thinking he was the one in the wrong, thinking he was a horrible person who was the reason Dean had refused to interact, he was thinking all the wrong fucking things and Dean could not stand it. He was trying to do good and he fucked up, he made the wrong choice again, he did it again, this was his fault, _all his fault,_ just like back then.

No, this was different.

He could fix this, he could tell him, he could show him he was wrong, he could fix this, _he was good,_ he was, he could do this one thing right, he had not fucked up with the guy before, he could fix this, he could do it, this was now and Castiel was almost gone around the corner, out the doors, he had _one chance_ to fix it.

"Cas!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, he speaks!
> 
> I have a long winded reason in my head that explains why he's spoken up now, even if one word, but I don't want to bore any of you;;
> 
> And, I think I was actually rather nice in this chapter, all things considered. When I'm in a bad mood, because of bad days or weeks and all, I tend to put characters in my stories through bad stuff. The reason I was originally intending Dean to speak up for was a lot worse, like his life is just one catastrophe after another and going to push him into his shell type. Instead, I decided to change it up and he panics because Castiel happens to drive an Impala. Not the same year, obviously, but still, Impala. So, sad and stuff because they both freak out, misunderstandings galore, though they'll get through it. 
> 
> Who knows, maybe I'll still write that scene just to be mean. I doubt it. Maybe.
> 
> Isn't their hand holding cute, though? I used to do that, closest I could get before, I've gotten better now, somewhat, happy times, that's some hope for Castiel, too. 
> 
> And, swings, I doubt he's ever been on a swing, I'd freak out, too, if it started making noise.
> 
> Just a small note, I might not update right away, hopefully before the weekend. It's just this is the second to last week of the semester, so everything's sort of hectic. I left this and Your Filthy Soul in some pretty bad places, suspenseful, I guess, sorry;; I'll make up for it somehow.


	11. November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One negative times another negative equals a positive. Somewhere along the way of calculating this, it seems to Dean, people fail to point out there is a lot of crappy shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the newest chapter. I finished this, a chapter of Your Filthy Soul, and I believe they're called drabbles, one of those, I had a few minutes in between classes. Very productive, creative writing wise, not so much on a political science paper I've been putting off and have no topic for because I've been putting off the class all these semesters;; Apparently I need it to receive a psychology degree, who knew. I did, for awhile, and terrible student I am, I ignored it in the hopes it would go away;; 
> 
> Ah, the things I find sad, so silly.
> 
> Anyway, there aren't any warnings to put here that aren't already in the tags.
> 
> And, I want to thank everyone for the lovely comments, I love reading and responding to them, they really make my day better. :)
> 
> So, enjoy! :D

"Cas!"

Despite only hearing hums, sounds, and the more recent terror stricken screams–that he hated that happened and likely always would–come from the other, Castiel could be in a crowd of people and still be able to tell who it was that called his name. Somewhat of a surprise, yes, and he stopped where he was to turn back to face him. If he was surprised, then Dean was nothing short of flabbergasted at what he had done, eyes so large and unblinking, mouth ajar.

It was not in his nature, of course, to leave after he was addressed and certainly not when his student looked so uncertain about himself, walking down the hall towards him and every step he took seemed to solidify to the male what he had just done. Cautiously, he remained the same three steps away from him as with everyone else, regardless of the impulse to get closer, not by much, though that was hardly respectful to do so, he had no idea what Dean wanted and so long as he did not, there was a boundary not to cross.

The professor said nothing, tilting his head and waiting for Dean to decide what to do, that was what he could give him, the chance to choose. With such conflicting emotions and thoughts flickering through his eyes, it was the right thing to do, not accidentally shove something on him. Finally, he decided and motioned him to come inside, he followed. Briefly, he thought that about how he had cut his office hours almost entirely, he was only there fifteen minutes after class and what might happen if he stayed long enough for Gabriel's class to end.

Kali was there, no doubt he would go to her.

They were in the living room and Dean sat down on one end of the couch, papers set down, he took the other side, biting his tongue and hands on his lap. That same conflict was back and Dean was not looking at him, attentive instead to his hands, wringing them and frowning. He did not like his hands, Castiel knew that, not merely because of their appearance, that was the merely the surface reason and he should probably stop thinking about it.

Dean looked at him now, eyes resolute and took a deep breath.

"I'm… poison, Cas… a disease… can't do that to you…"

His words were clear in sound, there was no slurring or stuttering, only self-imposed hesitance and it was also probably the fact that this was the first time he had spoken in years, his vocal folds were not as strong as they could be, it must feel strange.

Yet, none of that mattered to him, not at all. He could have taken hours to say those few words and he would have sat there and waited, with no less of a reaction as now. It hurt to hear him say that, it hurt in a way that was far too close to the metaphorical heart all full of strange emotions for his liking because hearing it spoken by another, knowing it was felt by another close to him, was what he imagined a slap to the face felt like.

"Dean…"

Was this close to what Gabriel felt when he heard him speak about himself when he was too loopy on medication to filter his words?

How heartbreaking.

Whether it was or not, that was not the concern at the moment, what was his concern was trying to dispel this notion Dean had that he somehow was a toxic person when everything pointed to the contrary. Clenching his fists, he steeled himself to stay calm, this was alright, he could do this and reached out, thumb and forefinger pinching part of the other's long sleeve. Not touching him, not holding his hand, he could not yet do that, but he could do this and this was a lot more than he could do about eleven months ago and if there was anything he learnt at all with all his classes and conducting therapy, it was that any progress was good progress.

"Dean, you're not poison. I don't believe you are, I never have. You're an amazing man and, yes, you've introduced me to plenty of new things, but none of it has been bad, none of it fits what poison is. You don't fit what poison is."

Releasing the material, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, quashing the string of thoughts before they fully developed in his head. No, he was fine, it was fine, he was not going to get sick and die, nothing was going to happen, he was perfectly fine, safe, not sick, not dying, he was right here with Dean and nothing bad happened. The other was staring at him, as though awaiting for him to react to what he did, eyes searching and lips set in a firm line. It would be difficult to dislodge that mentality, he had plenty of experience with that and his student was not any better than him in that regards, it seemed.

"You don't… know me… what I've done…"

No better at all indeed. The professor pushed his glasses up, habit more than anything else and he flattened his hands on his lap, taking a moment to observe them as he gathered his thoughts.

"What I know about you, Dean Winchester, is that you carry a massive load of guilt, you blame yourself for what happened. A car accident either with or in an Impala, I surmise. And you lost someone in the accident. You lost them and you think it is all your fault, so you must have been the driver or in need of a ride. And your self-blame is so profound, you cut yourself off from the world in every way humanly possible. Except Sam, you could not leave Sam alone, you watch over him, provide for him, you do this because you love him, though you do not feel deserving of his love, of anyone's."

With how terrified and shaken to the core Dean looked, Castiel might as well have reached into his chest and torn out his beating heart to show him, something drastic of that sort. He kept observations to himself, for the most part, since he was told more than once his apparent uncanny ability to dissect a person's life and internal struggles from few nuances was not appropriate for normal conversation.

This was not normal conversation, he rationalised.

"I know all this and you know what I think? I think that I am so grateful for having had to have taken over that child psych class, for you being in my other two classes, for having the chance to meet you and get to know you as I have. I think how happy it makes me to hear what you have to say, to hear you laugh, to see you smile. I think how is it possible to have met such a wonderful man when I have thought for years that I deserve no one, that all I was told was true, how is it possible that I would be fortunate enough to meet you and have you prove me wrong in every way imaginable."

Heartfelt things were not always something he was entirely good at, he had his moments, he hoped this was one of them. It might have been, probably, because Dean was clenching his hands and blinking rather forcefully and oh, he was not expecting that exact reaction, he never made someone cry or tear up with what he said, was this bad?

Oh no, he did something bad.

He did something bad, he messed up, he did something bad, terrible, something in his chest was tightening and climbing to an excruciating level, _bad, he messed up._

A firm slapping sound caught his attention, Dean was smacking his fingers against the palm of his other hand and he took a deep breath, waiting for him to emulate and once he did, held it for a few seconds and released it slowly.

How Dean could believe he was poison when he had this sort of compassion, he had no clue.

When his student thought he was good, he licked his lips, twisting his fingers.

"You deserve… someone good, Cas…"

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather have you." That must not have been the answer he was expecting, his surprise reflecting in his eyes and the professor smiled, "You don't think you're good, I don't think I'm good. By the logic of mathematics, two negatives together make a positive and I rather like those odds."

Castiel knew he could talk to him this whole day, try and convince him he was good, it would not work, people did not magically stop believing such things, it took time and effort and support. This was something he could understand, that he could relate to and most importantly, he could help Dean. Honestly, the fact that the other was talking to him verbally was not some grand accomplishment to him, he would not tell him "good job" or call it amazing progress or the like. He could never say a word to him verbally as long as they knew each other and he would be fine with it, he spoke in another way was all, as many others spoke in different ways, the same way he would sign when speaking to someone who used that method of communication.

What he deemed as progress, as good, was the fact that he took his proposal into consideration and thought about it thoroughly before extending his hand out, palm up, pausing halfway in the space between them.

"… Okay."

And Castiel smiled, removed his glove and placed his hand right above his, not touching as always.

"Okay."

Somehow, the gap felt smaller than usual.

\---

Twenty-four.

Twenty-four words.

He spoke twenty-four words and his throat felt funny, swallowing was weird and he was fucking scared shitless.

It was kind of stupid and irrational to think that if he talked, something catastrophic was going to happen and Castiel was going to get hurt or worse. But the thought was there and the knowledge of what car he drove made it worse, it almost made him reach out to grab the man before he walked out of the apartment, maybe stay until the bad mojo was gone and who knew how long that would take. The professor had already stayed about an hour after their talk, to help him sort of the assignments he needed to do and even let him take a quiz he missed.

Dean did not want to seem clingy or anything.

He was just… worried.

And how he was ever going to be good enough for Castiel, he had no idea, the guy was too damn good himself, no way he was going to be on his level because he had this like extra sense that alerted him when someone was distressed or anything negative, it had to be something. Because he had lingered before leaving, telling him, "As soon as I grade your quiz, I'll send you the score."

And he did just that, sending him a picture of it and he took it in a way that showed other items around, in the little home office he had. Dean had walked in there maybe three times, including the time Castiel gave him a tour of his house and it was pretty fucking fancy, the whole damn house, he managed to remember important items to identify what room was which because just as he sent pictures of random things, the professor would often return the sentiment.

And if his home screen background was a picture of the professor taking a selfie by the sign of Borel Hill, all the view behind him as he smiled, eyes squinted, so what?

It was for like, science. Or something.

No one ever looked at his phone but him, anyway, and his lock screen was just some cool looking clouds, not like anyone would suspect what was inside.

Life went on generally the same.

Yeah, he still worried about possibly screwing him over somehow, a fear that he felt perfectly justified. This fear steadily declined as the week passed and nothing happened, unless being invited to Thanksgiving dinner was something, that happened. What also happened was he realised that although he knew he was in deep into this relationship, it was becoming more obvious the magnitude of it with whatever had gone on between them and his return to class.

Jealousy was an ugly thing.

If he thought about it rationally, he knew that Castiel–no, fuck, Professor Novak, they were in class–was professional, through and through. He was close with a handful of students, seeing them out of class to keep up, he probably even knew some of them well enough that they were good friends and that was evident in the minutes before class started and when he was walking to his office. As soon as class started, though, he paid attention to every student equally and was the nice as hell guy he was, that was in his nature.

Dean knew all that.

And, he respected that, he knew it would be a bitch and a half if word got out about their relationship–that was what it was and if that was not the craziest thing he never thought to happen in a million years–and all the people with big mouths would yap and get all the details wrong. So, they remained like simple teacher and student.

Except, he was not a student that blatantly flirted with the guy.

He caught at least two conversations were this happened and he did not mean to eavesdrop at first, then he sort of was doing it on purpose. The rubber band he was stretching and twisting snapped at one point in the conversation, hands clenching into fists because holy fuck, could this dude be anymore obvious, he might as well have a neon sign nailed to his head with something along the lines of wanting to get in bed with the professor.

And Professor Novak, the awkward, unknowing man he somehow had the pleasure of knowing looked utterly clueless about the meaning behind his words and his answers confirmed that. When he was walking down the aisle, Dean heard the dick make an appreciative noise as he nudged the chick next to him.

"Mm, look at that ass. And _those thighs."_

Dean had brought his head down on the desk at that for the sake of not being thrown out of school for assault.

"Dean, are you alright?"

Professor Novak was there, concerned about his likely stupid looking behaviour and he sniffed, not wanting him to put the effort into this when it was really just stupid. Stupid as hell, anyone who tried to come onto the other never got anywhere, he did not have experience in socialising enough to understand different kinds of flirting, especially not sexual innuendos, and even if he did, he would likely find some way around it and break it nicely to the person that he was not interested.

Too nice, if anyone asked him, crude and thoughtless people that did not show respect did not deserve being given respect.

The professor smiled lightly, setting his hand on the table and allowing it to linger for awhile before walking away to the front.

"Now that everyone is here, we can begin."

Dean sort of stopped being so angry.

\---

Castiel sighed as he stepped out of the elevator, keeping the large stack of surveys close and made his way to the offices. These surveys were required every few years, though he never had the grand honour bestowed upon him to have to give it to his students. Random selection based on the class codes and of the hundreds of classes offered on campus, his was chosen, something that was a good deal of distress since it interrupted his lesson plan.

It was fine, everything was still okay, his schedule was planned in such a way that there was available room for revisions and he would turn these into Anael, have his office hours, and then go home.

At her door, he knocked on the door with his free hand, waited a beat and entered the office. Anything he was going to say died on the tip of his tongue at the sight that greeted him, instinct kicking in and he closed the door behind him, set down the surveys and got as close as he could to her, kneeling in front of her.

"Anael, what's wrong?"

She startled and lifted her head from how it was bowed and covered by her hands, sniffing and trying to dry her eyes. The professor grabbed a tissue to hand over, nodding at her thanks and waiting for her to compose herself, one hand clutching her phone and oh, he already had a good idea of what this was about.

"O-oh, I'm sorry. I know how uncomfortable crying makes you."

Excretions from the body, bodily fluids, all of that in general made him uncomfortable but that meant nothing at all, not now, and he shook his head.

"You don't need to apologise. Is it about Michael?"

Anael kept her phone on her all the time now and the reason she did was upsetting, to Castiel, because such a terrible reason should never have existed to begin with. Her nod confirmed it, turning her phone over in her hands.

"He can't move his left arm and his fever's getting worse."

There was not much he could say to that and have it help, what could anyone say to someone when their husband was ill again? Castiel recalled the first health scare that happened three months into starting here and knowing her, being told the whole story by Misty when he was panicking about suddenly being placed in charge of her intro psych class. A cancer survivor, a tumour in his brain, Michael was only meant to have a few months left and had proven the doctors wrong so far, no wonder she panicked so much then and now. Then, there was little he could do, he only knew her a few months. Now, he bit the inside of his lower lip, glancing at the clock. She still had two classes today, one was a research methods class and that alone was three hours.

"Go home, Anael, be with him."

"But my classes, I can't cancel them."

"I'll take over them, your students will be fine, I promise."

The redhead was confused, he could see that and it was not a surprise. Normally, he had a schedule, a meticulous one he never veered off and it was a great source of stress and anxiety whenever he did. He could already feel it roiling in his stomach and he tried to think of anything else, redirect his thoughts, this was something Anael needed and he could provide it.

"Are you certain, Castiel? You already have three classes of your own."

"I'm certain. These classes are what I know, all I need are your syllabi and I can follow your schedule."

What was adding three more?

Two honours intro psych and research methods, he could do it.

How bad could it be?

\---

Stressful, that was what it was.

Adding the load of three extra classes for the remaining four weeks and taking on Anael's responsibilities as co-chair of the department to his already present three classes and conducting therapy the days he did not teach, it was stressing him out and making his anxiety possibly the worst it was in a very long time. The itch, insistent and consuming, to regress into how he was before, how much easier it would be to relieve his anxiety was horrible. He never said anything about it, he did not want it to be known by any of the other professors, what if they told Anael?

That was not what she needed.

Urial had caught him once, pacing in his office, muttering to himself, pill bottles on his desk and he had suggested he talk to Pamela, promising not to say anything but to talk to him if he needed anything. Pamela had suggested talking to his psychiatrist, maybe his medication needed to be adjusted and he knew he was only telling her part of the whole, she likely would not have said that otherwise.

So, he went, his Klonopin dosage was increased, Xanax was still taken as needed and he was already taking 80 milligrams of Prozac, nothing much to do there.

That did not stop the violently growing pain in his back or headaches.

Gabriel had finally drawn the line and driven him to the doctor when he kept squinting from the light hurting, pressing his hands to his temples and would not come out of his room. It was not that he hated doctors, he simply liked to try other methods of treatment before resorting to being checked up on. Back pain was something he could tolerate and try to relieve himself, his muscles just needed to relax, that was it.

Apparently, he seemed to be unable to do it himself and the doctor prescribed Robaxin, to help out.

The increased dosages of his anti-anxiety medication, the stress, everything made him less alert, probably, he read over the papers that came along with the pill bottle and put it out of mind, rubbing his temples and thinking what he was going to do next.

If he thought about that instead, maybe the pain would subside.

It was hubris, that must be it, that led him to believe he could do this all.

Being tired, he no longer knew if it was because lack of sleep, the medication, something else and everything was blurring together. Whenever he went out with Dean, he tried to be active, not show what this was doing and he was not doing as well as he liked. The other more often than not went over, bringing movies to watch or games, made tea and refused to let him do things even in his own home.

Sweet, he was so sweet, Castiel questioned everyday how he was this fortunate.

One good thing in all of this, he was happy for it, even if he was exhausted when he left and almost always knocked out the moment his head hit his pillow, it never lasted long and he jolted awake, heaved himself up to get ready for work or grade.

One week, then finals week, that was all he had left, he could do this. He had stuck it out this long, managed it with only a few panic attacks and fell back into his compulsions three times, that was not as bad as it could be.

Then he could actually get a good night's sleep.

Blinking away the burn and ache in his eyes, he gripped his pen tighter and focused on the words of this student's essay. Personality disorders, he knew these, he was alright. It made a pound start in his head again upon reading about narcissistic personality disorder, recalling he had a client diagnosed with such and the man was apparently being kind to him, gracing him with the chance to speak to him, even if he was "young and inexperienced."

Pamela believed in him, so he did all he could.

As he was thinking about this and writing a note in the margin, he sighed, not realising both his thoughts and writing were turning incoherent, penmanship becoming sloppy, eventually turning into a long stroke clean off the page and scratched the desk, head dropping onto the surface with a loud thud.

\---

Castiel was stressed, that much was clear.

Why, Dean did not know that.

It made it harder to help him when he did not know and it was kind of shitty to be on the receiving end of that, not being told and all. Unlike Castiel, who could read anyone like a freaking first grade book, he was unable to and only narrowed it down to something about work.

Whatever it was about work, it messed with him enough that he looked like a freaking ghost sometimes and forgot twice that he knew of to have lunch, he was too busy. A sandwich would be good for him, then, he ate in his office when he had time before his next class started.

Peanut butter and jelly made him happy.

Happy Castiel was much better than stressed Castiel.

In front of his office, he knocked on the door and waited for the usual, "Come in."

Nothing happened.

Now, that would not alarm him if it were anyone else, maybe they were late, decided not to use their office hours, or they stepped out. Except this was Castiel, he stayed in his office the time he said he would and he opened the door without being invited in, heart dropping to his stomach once he did.

"Cas!"

The shout of his name registered kind of late, one of those reflexes he had now, it seemed, door haphazardly slammed behind him and moving into the other's space. Castiel had his head on the table, left arm draped over the desk, pen that left a long streak on his desk by his hand, his right arm hanging limply by his side. Figuring it was a time to say fuck it, he grabbed him by the shoulders and straightened him up, the other did not react at all, head lolling to the side and even as he repeated his name, slapping his cheek, there was no response.

Shit, shit, what happened?

His hand moved under his nose, barely feeling light puffs of air and he put his head to his chest, hearing his heart beating.

It was too slow.

It was dangerously, scarily slow.

Fuck, no, what the fuck, this was not happening.

Not on his fucking watch.

Keeping one arm propping him upright, Dean reached into his pocket and forgoing the passcode, tapped emergency and dialled 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

The words sort of poured out, rushed.

"My boyfriend, something's wrong, he passed out and he's not waking up, his heartbeat is too slow."

Dean was _not_ going to lose him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a thing to do to Castiel, and Dean, and everyone, really. I feel I have to mention that no one is going to die, I didn't put major character death, so Castiel isn't going to die for sure or anything. And, although some things have been tweaked for the sake of the story, a good few of the misfortunes and such are based on real situations. I did this for a couple of reasons, show these things do happen, give the story realistic happenings instead of making up some catastrophic, impossible tornado hitting or something, and because I know these things have happy endings. 
> 
> This wasn't what I planned the last chapter, when I said something terrible was going to happen to Castiel that was going to make Dean talk, that was just going to be one of those situations that were just unbelievably tailored to screw it all up. I think this fits more, what's happening to Castiel, it's realistic and I can say that because something similar happened to me, it sucked, I ended up scaring my brother and my girlfriend, I know stuff relatable has happened to people I know, it sucked as well, but I also feel what happened after is the more vital part to the story. 
> 
> Better to write based of experience, I think, on what you know a lot about and all that good stuff than not. Isn't that how some saying goes? Maybe I'm wrong about that, but that's what I believe.
> 
> But, yay for Dean acknowledging their relationship, calling Castiel his boyfriend, that's good, right? One happy thing.


	12. 3 December 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the next chapter, here it is. 
> 
> Look at me procrastinate on my essay;;
> 
> So, warnings that aren't in the tags, let's see. There's an implication/reference to a past suicide attempt. I think that's really it. There's some medical stuff and medication sprinkled here and there, just in case, follows more or less the format of a typical health summary from Kaiser because, well, that's the one I know best. 
> 
> Enjoy.

_Panic Disorder 300.01 (F41.0)_

_Recurrent unexpected panic attacks. A panic attack is an abrupt surge of intense fear or intense discomfort that reaches a peak within minutes, and during which time four (or more) symptoms occur._

Almost word for word, right out of the DSM-5, Dean still had it memorised and whilst he understood they had to generalise, try to cram in a description, the symptoms listed in there failed to mention some other, more subtle symptoms of when someone was freaking out, quite possibly having an attack.

Because he was breathing, he was acutely aware that he was, though it felt like the air was too thin, not enough to asphyxiate, just enough to teeter on the edge of light-headedness, heart thumping audibly to him. Was this like a slow start panic attack, was it happening in slow motion, who knew, he knew he gave the address of the school, where they were, but his head was buzzing and his hands were tingling the whole time. Were it not for the need to support Castiel and being on his phone, he would probably be clutching the desk, substituting it for leaning forward a little.

His phone's light was turned on, too, the lady on the line said check his pupils, see what was going on with them and when he used two fingers to pull back his eyelid, manually keep it open to shine a light in them, his alarmingly dilated pupils did not constrict at all, which he told her. Honestly, this was all kind of a blur, he had no idea one call had ended and another was made, not until the voice on the other end was suddenly a lot deeper.

"Calling isn't like yo-"

"Castiel's unconscious, his office."

"I'll be right there."

Gabriel was there in what felt like the blink of an eye and started asking things, Dean was not sure whether he answered or not, then he was reaching into his brother's messenger bag to pull out some paper and his wallet to shove in his hands.

"Don't lose these. Come on, we need to get him to the lower level, tram is coming."

Not that he was much help, with his one good leg, nonetheless taking one of his arms and slinging it over his shoulder, going down the elevator, on the tram and the sirens once they got to the front, sitting the professor down, they were close, his brain must have recognised this, not his ears, oddly enough because that was sort of controlled by the brain. It was an hour most students were in class, not around, that was good.

"You have to go with him."

That, that was not as good.

Dean stared.

An ambulance, a vehicle, might as well be a car, reminding him of back then, he was once in one, not conscious, but he knew what happened before, in his last trickles of consciousness, the blood, the glass, the body, the air thinned even further and the ambulance was here.

"You can either go with him, I'll be right behind in the car, or I'll go and you can take the bus. I'm sorry, I know you don't like any kind of car, it's up to you."

They were loading him up, he was unconscious, he had no idea what was wrong with him, he had a choice, ambulance or bus.

Ambulance or bus.

Not going to lose him.

Ambulance or-

Not going to lose him.

Ambulance-

Not going to lose Castiel.

Ambulance.

Panic attack, accident, he was already in an ambulance, they would do something if he had one, he was not having one, right, probably, something, sirens meant cars were away, statistics of collisions in ambulances concluded no direct, significant risk, he could do this, he could, short ride, had to be, get him to a hospital quick, had to be fast.

This was for Castiel.

He could not lose him.

No more death, not on his hands.

As soon as he was in the back, watching them work on him, driving off, it was another notch up in air thinness and he looked away, humming, hunched over so he could try and pretend he was somewhere else, somewhere not like this, somewhere where Castiel was conscious and talking, smiling that muted smile of his, soft laugh lines around his eyes and he pulled out the paper he tucked in his jacket to see what it was, Gabriel said not to lose it, must be important for this.

 **Member name:** Castiel James Novak

 **Date of birth:** July 10, 1988

 **Gender:** Male

 **Primary care physician:** MATTHEW DOUGLAS HOFFMAN MD

** Health Summary **

CHEST PAIN, ATYPICAL

KNEE PAIN

MAJOR DEPRESSIVE DISORDER, RECURRENT EPISODE, SEVERE

OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE DISORDER

PANIC DISORDER

SPECIFIC PHOBIA

THORACIC SPINE PAIN

** Prescriptions **

Methocarbamol 500 mg Tab  
Commonly known as: ROBAXIN  
Instructions: Take 1 tablet by mouth every 6 to 8 hours for muscle spasms

clonazePAM 2 mg Tab  
Commonly known as: KlonoPIN  
Instructions: Take 1 tablet by mouth three times a day

ALPRAZolam 2 mg Tab  
Commonly known as: XANAX  
Instructions: Take 1 tablet by mouth three times a day as needed for severe anxiety

FLUoxetine 40 mg Tab  
Commonly known as: PROzac  
Instructions: Take 1 tablet by mouth two times a day

Gabapentin 400 mg Tab  
Commonly known as: NEURONTIN  
Instructions: Take 1 capsule by mouth two times a day

Meloxicam 15 mg Tab  
Commonly known as: MOBIC  
Instructions: Take 1 tablet by mouth daily with food

LORazepam (ATIVAN) 2 mg Oral Tab **(Discontinued)**  
FLUoxetine (PROZAC) 20 mg Oral Cap **(Discontinued)**  
fluvoxaMINE (LUVOX) 100 mg Oral Tab **(Discontinued)**  
busPIRone (BUSPAR) 10 mg Tab **(Discontinued)**

He stopped reading at the fourth discontinued and urged one of the EMTs to take it, he read too much already, that was not for him to see, they would need it too see what he was taking, had to do something with that, must be, this ambulance had to hurry up, they took the paper, he covered his ears, the wails of the sirens were going to rupture his eardrums, the air was so thin, his fingertips were numb and cold, he could not stop shaking, jittery, something, everything was blurry, Castiel was not waking up.

Wake up, please.

Wake up, he could not lose him.

Wake up, wake up, wake up-

The back door opened and Dean nearly flung himself out, scrabbling to get out and squinting at the sunlight, gasping for air, coughing a few times like he was being suffocated, the air was chill against his face, he was crying, when did he start crying, shuddering, they were taking Castiel somewhere, no time to think about himself, go now and follow.

One of them grabbed his arm and he instinctively tried to tug his arm back, why were they stopping him, what were they saying, what the hell was going on with his hearing.

"… you to follow me, we'll get him treated right away."

If he went with this man, Castiel would receive help, those were the pieces he put together, all that mattered, if he did this, Castiel would be better and if he was better, he would not lose him, if he did not lose him, then everything would be okay.

Everything would be okay.

Everything would be okay was perhaps the only clear thought in whatever muck his mind was now, faint awareness of when he reached into the other's wallet to get his medical insurance card, hand it over, do this process that seemed too long and in that time, Gabriel arrived, then something happened, someone was talking, he blinked and they were in a different room, Castiel's assigned room, he might have looked like he was sleeping, if the IV and oximeter were not there, or if he was not in a hospital gown, or if he was not in a hospital bed and in his own, instead, his bed was plush, he laid on it a few times, never touched the other, but they laid there together, he got to see his eyes really up close, Castiel would map out his freckles with his eyes, Castiel always had the worst bed head when they got up, never could flatten it down, it was nice.

Everything would be okay.

The doctor was talking now, he was frowning.

Silly thing, to frown when everything would be okay, when Castiel would wake up.

"Mr. Novak, your brother was recently prescribed Robaxin."

"Yeah, the doctor he saw prescribed it for his back pain."

"Did this doctor know the other medications he takes?"

"Yes. Castiel listed them when he was asked."

Pain, why was Castiel in pain?

Castiel should be alright, he would be, everything would be okay, stop frowning so much, it did not make sense, his fingers were numb, the air was too thin and cold.

"From our initial tests, it appears Castiel had a negative reaction to the combination of the benzodiazepines and Robaxin. The doctor didn't tell either of you these two aren't meant to be combined?"

"No. What the _fu–"_

A deep breath.

"Are you telling me that my little brother's _life is in danger_ because of some doctor's carelessness?"

"The dosage of his anti-anxiety medications may play a part in it, as well. Is your brother prone to taking too many or abusing them?"

Too many?

Castiel was always careful with everything, what a silly notion that he might do something like that, Castiel would be okay, he never did anything like that, it was silly to ask.

"What the hell kind of question is that? No!"

"It's shown he's been admitted before to the ER for-"

"That was a long time ago. He _didn't_ overdose, this is that doctor's fault."

Dean looked over at Gabriel, eyes narrowed in confusion, that was odd, why say it was a long time ago, what did that mean, the professor looked angry and distraught, pained, too.

Why did he say it was a long time ago?

This air was too thin and cold, his lungs burnt, his fingertips were gone, felt like it.

Was Castiel cold?

He should check.

Walking over, he looked at the heart monitor, it was still too slow, so maybe he was cold, heartbeats went slower when it was cold, like hypothermia, that was how people di–

This was not good, Castiel should be okay, he shrugged off his jacket and put it over him, he could be cold, that was okay, as long as the other was warm, he tucked in the blanket, too, so heat would stay more, that was good.

Everything would be okay.

Dean stood there, watching, because he would wake up soon, of course he would wake up soon, it was probably just the stress, lack of food, he told him he should stop forgetting lunch, he even had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for him, he would wake up and he would eat it and he would be okay.

Gabriel was done talking to the doctor–that silly doctor that keep frowning, really unnecessary when everything would be okay–and was talking to him now.

Shh, he was waiting for Castiel to wake up.

Sammy, he heard Sammy's name and that clicked in him, a small little piece, a wire that could not bear all the weight of this and it snapped with a resounding twang, all he caught before it did was that he was calling him.

Why would he call him?

They were getting out soon, then go about their day.

Of course, after his sandwich.

Dean stood there and waited, patiently, throb of his leg not making it through this haze, maybe it was numb like his hands, maybe his whole body was, that was okay, he gave his jacket to Castiel, so he could stay warm.

This was a long nap he was taking.

Many, many beeps later, too many beeps later, there was movement, his eyelids, he was squinting more than usual and his head barely moved, he was looking at him, his eyes were blunted, cloudy, must be tired still.

"… Hu… hur's…"

Slurring, he was slurring, eyes closed again, Dean stared and waited for something more, but nothing happened.

Castiel must be very tired.

Everything would be okay.

He just had to wait for him to wake up.

Some more time passed, then there were heavy footsteps, he knew those footsteps, he also knew that voice.

_"Oh my God."_

Sammy.

Sammy was here, the thing clicked again, a little thicker of a wire this time, not thick enough and it shattered into tiny, unseeable pieces, he heard Sammy talking, bits and pieces, with Gabriel.

"… hasn't moved. I've tried, he doesn't respond."

Who was not responding? Castiel?

Well, he was sleeping, taking a nap, they had to wait for him to wake up, be refreshed, relaxed.

"Dean? Dean, how about you sit down, your legs must be killing you, it's been over two hours."

Shh, Sammy, Castiel was napping.

More of his body was too cold, tingling, numb, his lungs must have adapted to thin air, or perhaps the burn was accommodated now.

More beep, beep, beeps passed by.

Castiel squinted at him again, this time his hand kind of moved, dragging along the bed and his own hand followed, right alongside his.

"… 'is… hur… h-hu… rts… it…"

Castiel fell back asleep.

Dean let him nap because he was stressed and sleep helped, he would feel refreshed and he would have his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he could go buy him almond milk, tasted funny to him, but Castiel liked it and it had lots of vitamins, that would help, and he would tell him not to forget his lunch anymore.

Something tried weaving its way into his brain, something about pills and overdoses, stress and lunches, bouncing right off and he passed it off as being silly, like frowning, that doctor must not know what okay was.

Everything would be okay.

When Castiel woke up, he would tell him about this doctor, how silly and ridiculous he was, and Castiel would laugh and tell him that of course everything was okay, it always would be, he said it would be okay.

Two negatives make a positive, positive was good, everyone would be good.

Everything would be okay.

There was less feeling in parts of him, this air was frigid, like inhaling with his face stuck in the freezer, sucking in all the cold, it was strange that this place would be like that, it should be warmer or else people could get sick.

Beeps went on and on.

_Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep._

They were still a little slow, but he would be warm soon.

_Beep, beep, beep, beep–_

_**Beeeeeeep.** _

It might have been impressive to another how the haze cleared instantaneously at the prolonged beep, the full force hitting him relentlessly and his lungs were on fire, eyes wide, hands flying out to try and grab onto the male, leg screaming in pain.

And so was he.

"Cas! Cas! No, no, _**no!** Cas!"_

There were too many voices at once and none of them were Castiel, oh God, Castiel, no, there were hands on him, arms around him, picking him up, pulling him away and out the door and he was screaming, shouting, Castiel, fuck, no, no, he could not die, no, there was supposed to be no more death, this was not supposed to happen, Castiel was supposed to wake up.

_"Cas! **Castiel!"**_

"Dean! Dean, calm down! They're helping him! It's okay!"

The worst sounds were coming from Dean and Sam regretted so, so much ever wishing to hear his brother to talk again, he would take it all back of it meant these were not the first words he heard out of his mouth in almost four years. Being more physically fit than him had a great deal of perks, not everyone could lift a six foot man with relative ease whilst said man was shouting and struggling, not everyone could tighten their arms around a six foot man to keep him from breaking free, keeping his arms pinned firmly to his side, not everyone would be able to keep this up with one arm so the other could snake up to clamp a hand over his mouth to silence him.

And not everyone had to close their eyes to force themselves not to tear up, repeating, "He'll be okay, they're helping him, please, calm down, Dean, _please,"_ not everyone had to feel the sharp puffs of air against their hand, not everyone had to feel the words and cries muffled against their hand, not everyone had to feel their big brother's tears against their hand.

Not everyone had to and Sam would not wish it upon anyone.

Sam opened his eyes and craned his head back to look at Gabriel, who was now with a doctor, speaking to them and his eyes darted over to the room Castiel was in. There were no longer any nurses in there and he wanted to tell Dean that meant everything was okay, though what if he was wrong, what if Castiel really was-

No, he should not think that.

Gabriel was walking up to him and he shifted a little to face him better, Dean had stopped struggling as much, maybe he lacked the strength to, the feeling against his hand told he had not yet stopped whatever he was saying and he was perfectly fine with not hearing it.

"We can go back in."

That was what his brother needed and he told him just that.

"See? Castiel's fine. He's okay."

The struggles kicked back up and this time Sam did let go, felt Dean shove away and get there as fast as he could, followed along with Gabriel. He watched his brother eye the heart monitor suspiciously before conducting his own examination, feeling for his breath, peeling his eyelid open to check his eye and finally putting his head to the man's chest, listening for a heartbeat and lingering for awhile, bent over uncomfortably, one hand on the bed rail, other hand clutching onto the professor's, and he did not seem to care at all about anything than the fact that he could hear and feel that the man was alive.

It hurt to see and he looked away, preoccupying himself instead of what the hell happened.

"What was that?"

"Doctor says he thinks he might have taken too many of his anti-anxiety pills and since they act as a sedative alone, the Robaxin made it worse, made his heart stop."

Or something along those lines.

Gabriel was stuck on the fact that holy shit, his heart stopped right before his eyes and that brought back unpleasant memories and was another unpleasant memory he had that should never have come to pass and fuck, _his baby brother's heart stopped._

"They can't tell how many he took?"

Was that not what tests were for? Blood and urine ones told a doctor what the hell was in the system, that was the whole point of them, right?

"They know they're in his system, they can't measure how much. Fucking doctor thinks he did it on purpose."

On purpose?

"You mean like a suicide attempt?"

For wanting to be a lawyer and for being a generally compassionate guy, Sam was told that he sometimes could say things that were a little inconsiderate of the situation and even he caught it this time, wincing some.

"Sorry, I didn't-"

"It's fine. Yeah, doctor thinks that. Stupid thing to think, he's been stressed out lately and needing to take them more often, but he didn't overdose. He would've been fine if it wasn't for that doctor and his stupid Robaxin."

Sam frowned, not understanding how this whole thing happened. Whilst he knew doctors were human, they made mistakes, what could have been messed up so badly that it led to them being here, if this Robaxin was so bad for Castiel when he was taking anti-anxiety medication, why prescribe it in the first place? By this point, Sam knew that Castiel had his share of mental illnesses he faced on a daily basis, learnt that his odd gait and gloves were not simply a choice, he had seen twice when he reached into his pockets to pull out orange prescription bottles, a different pill every time, so he took a variety of them.

And he did not hide the fact that he took them, at least not around him, which had to mean he trusted him and thought him a friend, he doubt this would be hidden from a doctor because even a potential stranger, it was their job and the professor was always on top of his health. As he was thinking about this, he pulled out his phone and typed in the name of this medication. If there was some obvious warning, then this was the doctor's fault for prescribing it, right? It would prove that Castiel did not deliberately do this because he never should have had it in the first place, doctor gave it to him and maybe he trusted him to give the right thing, it was his job.

Methocarbamol.

_**Drug Interactions** _

_Drug interactions may change how your medications work or increase your risk for serious side effects._

Okay, obviously, he kept reading.

_… drugs for sleep or anxiety (such as alprazolam, diazepam, zolpidem), other muscle relaxants…_

Shit.

**_Side effects_ **

_Tell your doctor right away if you have any serious side effects, including: fainting, slow heartbeat, yellowing eyes/skin, persistent nausea/vomiting, mental/mood changes (such as confusion, forgetfulness)._

Oh.

"Gabriel, what exact ones does he take?"

"Klonopin and Xanax. Why?"

Xanax, that was alprazolam, he recalled.

He handed his phone over to let him read it, watching him go from confused, to angry, to outright furious.

"That _fucker._ It lists it _right here._ Why the fuck did he give it to him."

About to open his mouth to answer, he stopped when another voice interrupted him.

_"Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better…"_

Sam looked over and Dean was still bent over, head pressed against the male's chest gently, he was facing the other with how he was positioned, so he could not see his expression, hand not gripping as tightly, thumb rubbing small circles and he was not loud, he could barely hear him and something about this punched right into his heart, tore it out of his chest and shredded it to thin little ribbons.

_"Hey Jude, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better…"_

And he listened to the entirety of _Hey Jude,_ this time not coming from an iPod behind a door, which made it even worse, believe it or not.

It took awhile longer to get Dean to sit, convincing him that his hand would work to feel the man's heartbeat, he needed to sit so he would not be tired once they were able to leave when Castiel woke up.

Hours ticked on by and nothing happened, Castiel did not even have the few seconds of consciousness, it was becoming a overbearing weight on both Gabriel and him, Dean seemed too out of it to realise. Too out of it, in shock, freaking out, repressing because his brain could not handle it and decided this was better, whatever it was, it left him sitting there silently, occasionally fiddling with the man's hand, tracing old scars and new, scabs that trailed up a little to his forearm, hand over his heart never moving.

It was scary, to see his older brother like this again, he was in this sort of state after his accident, though he usually left to his room or was in bed, only a few times did he catch him on the couch, late at night, reruns long passed and informercials on useless things playing, Dean would be staring beyond that, hand rubbing his left thigh, never even noticed it was on or when he turned it off.

He just sat there.

Despite their less than stellar relationship, John was their dad. He sucked at it and at the time, he honestly thought he was the worst there ever was, but he was all they really had. There was Bobby and Ellen, too, they were family, not by blood, family nonetheless. Something about family by blood, who knew what it was, made it that they tolerated their dad, through all the bullshit he said and did. Sam had an idea of what bullshit Dean took and also knew most of it was his fault. He always talked back, never followed rules dad set down, wanted to be free, Dean took the brunt of almost all of it.

So, he felt responsible, for what happened that night.

If he did not get into so many arguments and butt heads with their dad on pretty much anything, Dean may not have been so pissed and bitter and stressed that his only outlet was booze and warm bodies, or anything like that. He would have been going to KU on a full scholarship because he was really smart, despite his cracks on how he was stupid and Sam was the smart one, not taken a year off to make some money, save it up. He would have gone to parties, sure, that was a part of who he was naturally, liked some fun every now and again. But he never would have gone to that particular one with those particular people and ended up where he was, dad never would have had to get that call and go pick him up and they never would have been slammed into and-

Well, it never would have happened, was all.

And he would never have seen Dean like that and his brother would not have suffered all these years and would not be as terribly as he was now.

Another hour passed.

This hour, something happened.

The beeps kept on going steadily, but the man's fingers twitched, eyelashes fluttering as he tried to open his eyes, succeeding just shy of halfway. Dean had pulled his hands back because Castiel was awake and he did not like touching, he had to touch him before, to make sure he was okay, that he was still warm and okay, but if he was awake, then he must be refreshed. Azures were on him and the other swallowed, he could see he was moving his tongue inside his mouth, it was probably dry, mouths tended to be dry when someone slept for a long time and he kept staring at him, eyes roaming his face.

"… W-why… why're you c… cryin'… don' be… sad… it… hur's to see…"

Crying?

Oh, was he crying? It was maybe because the air, it was cold, kind of burnt his eyes, not that it mattered, he was awake now, maybe the cold was okay, the thinness of the air, too.

Everything would be okay.

"You still tired, Cas?"

"No… 'm thirsty…"

"You were asleep a long time."

"Oh… I ap'logise… mus've been… dull…"

"It's okay."

Dean probably did a lot of dull things, anyway, would not have really had much to do, he was okay with watching over him as he slept, that was okay.

Everything was okay now.

Castiel was lifting his hand, clumsily batting the air before the pads of his fingers were pressed against his cheek, right up against his scar and his skin was soft, and warm, he was not cold and that was good, he liked when he was warm and rested, refreshed, not realising how he leant into the touch, or the movement of these muscles long since used.

"You've a… beau'iful smile, Dean…"

His hand slipped and fell back onto the bed as the male let out a long exhale, looking around and seeing his brother, wide eyed and mouth open.

"What're you… doing here…"

Gabriel was elbowed by Sam and he cleared his throat, stepping forward.

"Uh, just, checking on you, bro. You good? Going to stay up now?"

"Yes…"

"Good. I'll, uhm, I'm going to go get the doctor or a nurse, tell them you're up."

And mull over what the _fuck_ he just saw.

As loopy and drugged up as Castiel could get on his medication, it was never enough to have him disregard absolutely everything, he still felt the panic and nagging thoughts, still never wanted to be touched, so it was either this really shot every aspect of that to hell or he was a lot farther in his therapy than he thought and Dean was a-okay to touch.

Hell, he was simply happy he was awake.

He got his water, too, which he choked on when he tried swallowing and spluttered up most of it, spilling it all over the hospital gown and sheets, but seemed unaware of what had happened, he seemed more confused than anything why everyone looked so worried and patted Dean's hand, saying he was fine. And the lights were hurting his eyes and his head felt fluffy, he mentioned that to the doctor, like that was the worst thing of all of this, even when the nurse was talking to him, telling him she was going to remove the catheter, hands going under the sheets, he blinked slowly and did nothing, made a face when it was removed and that was it.

Yeah, Castiel had no idea what was going on.

The doctor was asking him about what he took and Castiel, for the most part, slurred out answers that made no sense half the time, answering questions never asked or mumbling about something he did not catch. He did manage to answer yes, he remembered taking Robaxin and another medication, though he could not remember how many, muttering gibberish about grades, the colour green, and going home.

Going home, something could be done about that.

Not that Gabriel was certain if he was in a condition to be sent home, he asked repeatedly if that was safe, the doctor said it was, to come back if he worsened.

Now, the professor was uncertain what "worsened" could possibly be when he saw his little brother finally be allowed to get off the bed and his first step once both feet were on the ground sent him bodily crashing right into the wall, leaving the other bemused on what just happened, hands pressed against the wall to steady himself and not being able to straighten up and remain balanced without Dean helping him.

He let Dean do this because what if it was only Dean that he was fine with touching him? That would sting a lot, if he was less aware and knowledgeable, find it insulting and like he did not love him like he said he did. As he did know a fair amount, he would understand if that was the case, they had a different relationship was all, deeper in ways that impacted certain things more, and as long as his brother was happy, he could wait for him to be okay with his being okay with touching him.

However, that did not change his belief that this hospital, or this doctor, something was ten kinds of fucked up because all he was told was, "We'll bring a wheelchair for him, so you can take him to your car."

A freaking wheelchair was not going to stop Castiel from insisting he was okay on his own then face planting into the bed as he stumbled to put on his slacks, body seemingly losing interest in moving and he stayed like that, he might have actually passed out again, were it not for Dean manoeuvring him so his back was against the hospital bed, azures on the student, blinking, each one taking longer to complete than the last.

"Wha's 'appening…"

"Going home, Cas."

"Oh… okay… are we watchin' a movie… couch's sof'… 've to refill… pi'cher's emp'y… di' you know… 's organic…"

"Yeah, Cas. A movie on the couch. I'll refill the pitcher and make popcorn."

For what it was worth, as much as Castiel could understand Dean when he did not verbally speak, Dean seemed to have the ability to understand whatever his brother was spouting off right now, he had this entire time, responding to him in a way that appeared to please Castiel, which was more than they were able to do. The professor watched as the male pulled up the other, deciding against putting back on all the pieces of his suit once the gown was off, settling for the button up and then grabbing his own jacket to put over it.

Castiel was wobbling the whole time, swaying and when the jacket was on, he fell into Dean, limp, cheek smushed against his shoulder, breath puffing against his neck. Emeralds looked down at the man, hands on his waist and Gabriel knew something must have gone down because his grip on his waist tightened a little and a short, choked gasp punched out of him before he pressed his lips together firmly and his eyes shut.

Whatever something was ended when the nurse came in with the wheelchair and the male was guided to sit down, the rest of his belongings in a bag on his lap, everything was set and he was pushing his brother out to the parking lot when he remembered something.

_The Impala was unsettling._

That was all Castiel explained to him from that time at the park, why he had panicked in the first place, what did he do, what caused it because he knew how someone looked after an attack, he saw it one too many times, not hard to put two and two together, realise Dean had one also, which consequently triggered Castiel's.

"Our car's a mess, I have a bunch of projects in the back, Cas has been on my ass about them. I can shove them all in the trunk, if you want."

Sam glanced at Dean, he was preoccupied with watching Castiel, and shook his head.

"No, it's okay, it's fine, we'll be good. You mind if we come over, though? Got to be a bus that takes us there somewhere around here."

Getting the instructions on where to go, he waited as the professor garbled out something, playing with the sleeves of the jacket, his brother nodding and leaning over next to him. Whatever this was made Castiel turn his head to look at him, eyes as wide as he could get them and a smile pulled at his lips, nodding once and holding up a hand. The hand was taken and squeezed lightly, Sam and Gabriel watched the exchange then shared a glance.

Definitely not how they wanted them to get their heads out of their asses.

At least there was something positive in all of this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having your heart stop and being told almost three weeks later by your brother because he was told it was "better and safer that way?" It isn't fun. Probably would've never known otherwise. Trying to depict the other side, not being in the bed and trying to get around once at least semiconscious, it took some work and some talking to my girlfriend then the bits my brother's told me the doctor told him when he arrived. 
> 
> So, I do urge you to ask plenty of questions, maybe even have someone you trust read through the papers given to you with the prescription, be thorough, it's very important.
> 
> I had to think for awhile how Dean would react, what he would do, what he might say, and I took for a few different things I was told and considered his characterisation as I wrote this, I hope I did it justice. And, look at that, maybe Castiel's been through more than he lets on, been to the ER years back for something. His side of what he remembers taking and all that will be coming soon.


	13. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything should be okay, but what happens when things are clearly not as okay as they should be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the new chapter, after pretty much a week, I think.
> 
> So, I'm sorry that it's so late and that it's probably a terrible chapter. I graduated Friday, all official with the little tassel turning, long speeches, planes flying overhead, getting my degree in the mail in a few weeks, the whole deal. Naturally, it's a pretty happy time for most people and it ended up really punching me in the gut with a hell of a depression because I didn't see much point to having to go through it, having to deal with staving off anxiety over being so exposed and all, when no one ended up attending for me that mattered. There's a lot to it and it all sucks, I'll spare the details because I don't want to look like I'm complaining and moaning about likely a stupid, little thing. 
> 
> But, this chapter is sort of everywhere because of that, I think, it took me a little longer than usual to finish it and I'm not satisfied with it, though I doubt it'll get any better. And since I'm like I am, this chapter is kind of depressing.
> 
> There are likely all kinds of typos, my bad, I'll fix them as I read through and catch them. 
> 
> Warnings, mentions of past suicide attempt. I believe that's it.

_Beep, beep, beep, beep-_

_**Beeeeeeep.** _

Dean jolted awake, gasping for air that burnt his lungs and wide eyes darting to the slumbering man in bed next to him, hand reaching out and searching for his heartbeat without his consent.

_Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump._

Tension seeping out of his muscles, he retracted his hand, blinking and trying to adjust to the little light before deciding to simply reach out to the nightstand, grab his phone and check the time.

2:38 AM.

Running a hand over his face, the man sighed quietly. Around eight, they arrived, Castiel was already sitting on the couch, kind of awake, not entirely, he was still tired, he told them. And how everything was too bright, it was so dark before, he did not understand where all this light was coming from. So, Dean took him upstairs to his room, asked him if he wanted a sandwich, Castiel started mumbling about his sunglasses and no, he was not allergic, but the thoughtfulness was appreciated, then trailed off.

"Bam… bam, bam… 's goin', mm… yes, baaam, 's… thin's normal… 'm _okaaaay…_ hm-ahhh…"

Dean accepted his answer, chose not to think about what he said at the end, did not want to think about it, what it meant and reminded him to breathe, he was forgetting to breathe as he sat on his bed, needed to breathe to be okay, and instead asked him to get his sleeping clothes then helped him into them. He was getting him into bed when his hands shot out and grabbed the front of his shirt with no preamble or care for how much strength was put into it, not that he had much at the moment, he was still tired. So, he was able to balance himself when he tugged, keeping himself propped up with his hands as the professor muttered.

"'s nice… smells nice… 'member this, 's warm…"

His jacket, he thought he was holding his jacket. Having removed it to get his pyjamas on, it was folded up along with the rest of his clothes, he must have smelt it all this time, wanted it back, although he doubt he could keep this up the entire time he was asleep, his arms were going to get tired, he might fall on him and wake him up.

Castiel needed rest.

"Cas, I can stay, but you have to let go for a bit."

Whether he understood him or he was too tired to hold on, his hands released him and his arms went over his eyes, blowing out air noisily then turning on his side. Moving to the other side of the bed, he did remove his boots and his flannel, keeping on everything else and climbing into bed, listening to the other.

"Bam… 's goin'… hard… it _hur's…"_

Dean placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating much too fast for the little movement he did and frowned, pulling his hand back.

"It'll be better soon. Just rest."

So he did, Dean watched him for awhile and stayed a little close–a little closer than the normal distance–as he did before falling asleep himself. Then there was that nightmare, he woke up, and here he was at nearly 2:40 in the morning, watching over him.

Gabriel said it was fine that they stayed over, stay as long as they wanted, even set Sam up with the bed in Gabriel's office because a bed in the office was entirely necessary in the professor's eyes, it just was. His office was a lot different than his brother's, though they were really different, so it made sense. Thoughts like these came, floated around for awhile, then left, another taking its place for an hour and a half, roughly until he was able to fall back asleep.

What woke him up this time was a loud thunk. As soon as his eyes opened, he noticed the bed was empty and the sheet had been dragged off onto the floor, which upon closer inspection was where Castiel currently was, planting his hands on the floor and pushing himself up, looking baffled on how he made it down there. When he was grasping the nightstand, Dean was already by his side, hands out in case he was going to keel over.

"What're you doing?"

"Class 's startin'… I need to go…"

The professor was more aware now, not enough to realise what had happened, he must think he simply fell asleep, today was a new day and there were classes to be taught. Hardly looked up for it, if Dean was honest, he was squinting and using the wall to guide him to the bathroom door to avoid falling again.

"No classes today, Cas, rest."

"No, 'm fine… need to go… her classes, trusted me…"

Her classes?

"Whose classes?"

"Anael… I _need_ to go…"

"You're not going anywhere, baby bro," Gabriel had walked into the room, laptop balanced on his arm and he recognised that case, that vintage book one, that was Castiel's, Gabriel's had an Iron Man sticker on his MacBook, "I emailed your students, all 208 of them because apparently, your class load doubled in the past weeks. I emailed Pamela, too, told her you won't be able to go in Friday."

Anael, her classes, he took them for her? The times he went to the offices in the past weeks, her door was always closed, lights off, and Castiel was usually talking to students, he pegged it on him being as helpful as he was, stress of finals, nothing more. From what he knew, Castiel had three classes, roughly one hundred or so students in total and he handled them with relative ease, said that was a normal load for him now as an adjunct professor.

When was the first time he skipped lunch?

Two weeks ago…

"When did you take Anael's classes?"

"Uh… Than'sgivin' week…"

That was the week he went back to school, he remembered that. He remembered Thanksgiving dinner, how Castiel was not eating much and kept rubbing his temples, pressing his thumb down on his palm or twisting his fingers, answering every time with, "I find myself with too much on my mind sometimes, I apologise." Never said what it was, why he would see him pull out his pills, he remembered being worried but clearly not enough, he never asked more about it.

"Yeah, well, Uriel, Sarah and Misty are taking Anael's and your classes for this week and finals."

Castiel stood there, swaying a little, silence settled for more seconds than should be for what came out of his mouth.

"Oh."

"You're damn right, 'Oh.' I'd tear you a new one this moment about not telling me and working yourself to the bone if I thought you were going to remember it. Now, I'm going to get your stuff from school, get groceries and when I come back, your ass better be doing nothing but resting."

A few beats passed.

"… Okay?"

Bits and pieces were comprehended, not enough to know why he was saying things about bones, groceries and doing nothing but resting.

Did grocery bones rest?

What were grocery bones?

The marrow, narrow, sterile, sterile was strange, strange word, sterile, free of bacteria, yes, Mother, all free of bacteria, as asked.

Free…

Then Gabriel was gone and he was in the bathroom, really weird, how did he get here?

Here, stuff was here, stuff that went stuff and stuff, before, after, never happening, did stuff happen, he wanted a drink…

The toilet flushing startled him and he flailed away, blinking a few times, heart racing, breath really loud and why was there the sound of a toilet flushing in the first place, why was there a toilet?

Oh.

Oh, wait, bathroom, he was in a bathroom, he wanted to go to the bathroom, that was the reason he felt cold against his arms, they were pressed against the sink now, the sink was too bright, so white, and smooth and cold, nice cold.

"Cas?"

The knock on something caused him to start and something happened to his head, dull, kind of ached, there was more sound, odd sound, like… like water, why would water be here, he was in bed, no water bed, just a bed, something felt funny on his head.

"Cas."

Cold and wet, something slithering down the back of his neck, down his face, kind of blurred his eyesight more, but there was Dean, he saw Dean, he had a towel, where did the towel come from, wait, this was not bed.

"Did you hit yourself?"

Hit himself?

Why would he…

Oh.

His hand, his hand was by his head, he was touching his head, the top of it and it felt odd. It also felt kind of wet, like his face, oh, oh, his hair was wet, or it was until Dean used the towel and he stood there, wondering what happened to make his hair wet and head hurt in the first place.

Dean continued to towel dry the man's hair off, sighing softly once it was more or less dry and sticking out every which way. He came in and had to turn off the water, although he caught a glimpse of the professor with his head in the sink, eyes closed, he looked like he was falling asleep again and that was bad, he could get sick if he stayed like that and fell asleep.

"Come on, Cas. You need to eat."

Putting the towel back on the rack, he waited for him to follow and was not as surprised as normally when his hand was grabbed. He was still tired and a little confused on what was what, he probably did not know it was his hand he was grabbing. And that was okay, it was nice to hold his hand, feel it for now, be able to lead him out to the hall and carefully down the stairs so they could get to the kitchen. It was nice even before, when they did not hold hands, when they did the closest they could to holding hands, he did not mind that either.

What mattered was Castiel was alive.

What should be done now is allowing him to sit on one of these stools they had and getting some fruit for him, soft fruit that would not take so much work to chew. Honeydew should be okay, he just had to cut it up. His hands were not the best, they ached if he gripped too long or too tight, but he could shove it away if it meant that something would be eaten.

Castiel had to get his strength back.

As he got the cutting board and knife, then proceeded to cut up the honeydew, there were a total of four times he had to pause and wake Castiel up before he fell off the stool because the island would only do so much in helping him remain as he was. Every time, it was more and more apparent the other had no idea he had even gone to sleep or how much time had passed.

"What…" was a very common question from Castiel whenever he asked or said something, he was fine with repeating it and for the most part, once he understood a question, he answered it as honestly as always, perhaps even more so. Because although there was never a time he blatantly lied to his face or at all, there were some things the professor always kept to himself and he was never able to decipher.

So when he asked, "How are you," and it sunk in the third time, he might not have expected the other to set down the fork he was using for the honeydew at any other time, giving a long sigh.

"Bad… and disappointed…"

"Why?"

"Because I failed… _failed_ Anael… 'm _no good,_ jus' a… a _waste of space… of air…_ can't even… 'm _not deservin'_ of this…"

That hurt to hear.

Moreover, it hurt to know this was how he felt all this time and never said a word.

MAJOR DEPRESSIVE DISORDER, RECURRENT EPISODE, SEVERE

Those words flashed through his head and he realised that a lot of it, of never seeing it, was likely his internalising it, medicating himself until he stopped thinking about it, pretending that it was okay when he was around other people and never quite handling it when he was alone. Recalling what happened in the hospital was difficult, hazy, he had bits and pieces, of walking into the room, Gabriel talking to the doctor, Sammy, Castiel's heart, then getting him ready to go, but it was like one of those old films that was damaged, skipping and sometimes unfocused.

_That was a long time ago. He **didn't** overdose._

Overdosing…

Overdosing and his heart, the doctor said something about the ER, it happened a long time ago. Though, it could not have been that long ago, right? Castiel said his brother left as soon as he was of age, he only came to California after their mother passed and Gabriel needed help, he went to Cal Poly for graduate school for that reason, that was maybe seven years, at the most.

What happened a long time ago?

Dean should not ask, probably, he really should not. It would help him understand, if he did, and he would repay him, he would, it was always equal giving in their relationship, that was how it went and he would give if it helped him understand.

"Cas, why did you go to the ER before?"

"What…"

Again, he had to repeat it three times and save the man from choking on honeydew once because he could not swallow well yet before he comprehended.

"Oh… I took a bottle of pills… night before graduation… thought… you know, they're… _they're righ'_ so… so jus' took all my Ativan along with… with a… well, the only things I had… I wan'ed it to stop… _stop hurtin' so much…_ stop hurtin' an' I was… a pi'iful excuse of a human bein' jus' like… they said… if I did it… it'd all stop…"

As he spoke, the man gradually started leaning more heavily on his arms, as if the weight of this was physically too much to bear and Dean knew how that could be, he did, that was why he had to ask.

"Who told you that?"

"Daphne's… her friends… my friends, which turned out… not really friends, jus' was really young… an' smart, took advantage of tha' all the time… thought I was… horrible to Daphne… _horrible person…_ didn' deserve her… anyone… _didn' deserve to live…"_

If Dean was a different person, did not know what it was like to have those kinds of thoughts, did not know the man, if he knew none of that, he was genuinely think that what happened now was an extension of that.

"And you tried to kill yourself…"

Except, Dean did know all that and all he really wanted to know how deep that ran in him to this day, trying to process what could have been said and done to the kindest and sweetest man he knew to drive him to that point.

"It was… the… the…"

Dean knew Castiel was not immune to emotions, to reacting to them, he presented himself a particular way, yes, he was compassionate, he was there for people when they were angry or sad, and maybe it was that therapist part of him that he had that he never outwardly responded to what was said, he could not have outbursts or anything, had to remain professional, maybe he was already like that, simply felt them internally and had a collected external response.

So, the broken, soft sob and and sniffle that left him surprised him because although he knew he felt, he never once saw him express it beyond what he saw in his eyes or in words. The tears spilling from his eyes surprised him because it was not that he was physically unable to do it, Castiel never cried since secretions unsettled him, he could not stand them, he had not coped with that yet, he still was not at that point yet. Even so, he did not look to be aware what was happening, that he was crying, and Dean felt like the worst person in existence for causing that, for asking, for being on the receiving end of that heartbreaking look.

"Please… Dean, _please,_ don' make me… I…"

He reached out both hands, slow and gauging his response before setting them on his cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears and nodding.

"Okay. We can eat. How about that?"

"Okay…"

He could ask later about what he took yesterday, it was probably just too close to each other, the things he took, and that was it. Waiting until enough honeydew was eaten and not coughed up or choked on, he then led him back upstairs and let him sleep. Rather than thinking that it was what the pills did, he liked to think it was Castiel resting and making up for however long he had yet to rest the past weeks.

There was not much else he could do at the moment, he sat beside the bed, fixed the clothes the other was wearing before, checking on him in between.

At one point, he woke up and said he needed to go to class, Dean had to remind him they already talked about it and it was taken care of, which took awhile until he agreed and then he mentioned how he wanted to take a shower. Since he had the master bedroom, the bathroom was not far, a few steps away and there was the adjoining one. Once his clothes were picked out, he left the professor alone in the bathroom, only knocking when it had been over half an hour.

It turned out Castiel fell asleep and had no idea how it happened, he simply closed his eyes for a second.

After another nap that lasted about an hour, leaving them at about four in the afternoon, the professor seemed a little more lucid and capable of moving about on his own, he stopped touching him as much because of that. If he was good on his own, then there was no reason to touch, not if that was not what he wanted. Before, it was necessity, to keep him safe, to not fall when going down the stairs, things of that nature and he was okay with it, even actively sought him out. That was not the case so much now, he was not looking for him and that was okay, that must mean he was not as tired and he preferred that over anything else.

He made him a sandwich this time and poured him a cup of almond milk, just like he had planned to get for him yesterday, and made himself one on Castiel's insistence of eating with him, having watched him the whole time he was making it and instructing him how much of what and where and how.

There was a very specific way of preparing it and Dean was happy that he was telling him how it was, it showed he was paying attention. Not that he would ever intentionally ruin it, but his telling him meant that he was doing better now. Gabriel texted him earlier saying he was going to do some stuff and he had already given Uriel a reason for his absence, he only came by to drop off his brother's bag and ask how he was doing, told him to take care of him, and he was off for whatever stuff he had to do.

That was okay.

Sam said he would be back much later, finals were coming up soon for him, they were very important. Originally, he wanted to stay and take care of them, Gabriel had shooed him out and said they would be fine, though Dean did not get what that meant.

Take care of both of them?

He was just fine, perfectly fine, it was Castiel that needed to rest and recover.

In any case, he took the messenger bag and trench coat, taking both to his office and after setting his bag down, he hung the trench coat on the coat stand near the desk and reached into the pockets to pull everything out.

An iPhone he put to charge.

A bottle of Klonopin and another Prozac from one pocket he set down along with a small stress ball.

A bottle of Xanax and another of Robaxin in the other.

When he setting down the Xanax, the top was screwed on wrong, he noticed, all he had to do was nudge it with his thumb and it popped right off. Frowning, he felt around the pocket of the coat, fingers touching the smooth tablets he pulled out, five of them. Then he checked the prescribed date, peered into the bottle pill to count how many there were, did the math and did the same with the Robaxin.

The realisation made him a little sick.

"Dean… what are you doing?"

Castiel was leaning against the doorframe, his now gloved hand resting on the doorknob to support himself as he straightened himself out to walk over, eyes roaming the pill bottles and frowning.

"My pills… where did you get them… I thought they were… somewhere…"

"Your school office, Gabriel brought them. Do you remember?"

The professor stared at the bottles, picking up the Prozac and listening to them rattle around. Eyes narrowed at them, it was set down and the Klonopin was next, brow furrowed.

"Why are these next to each other… they're not supposed to be…"

"That's how they were, in your pockets."

Wrong answer, clearly, he was shaking his head.

"No… no, they're supposed to be…" The Robaxin was exchanged for it, right next to the Klonopin, and he requested the Xanax, to put next to the Prozac and he noticed why that was. When set up this way, the bottles would end up being symmetrical in both pockets. Same widths, lengths, everything, they were mirror images, "That's how…"

This time when he trailed off, it was because the pills in his hand caught his attention.

"Why do you have those…"

Even if he did not answer him, trying to figure out how to put it together, the other took one look at him, his coat and was aware enough to put two and two together.

"… Oh. Those aren't good now, touched outside… exposed…"

"Cas, were these the ones you took yesterday?"

"Yesterday?"

"Do you remember what you did yesterday?"

This was some kind of arduous task for him, to recall any of it, he even had him move to sit in his chair whilst the man examined his bottles, Prozac held.

"I… took this in the mornin' like always… an' this one," the Klonopin was tapped, "Before I left… wasn't feelin' well… I took this with it," Robaxin was touched, "I had… classes an' papers to grade… lots of papers… I got out of class, couldn't… _couldn't control it,_ so I… I reached in," his left side was patted and that dread came right back, "And I took my Klonopin an' the Robaxin because it was time… thought it would help?"

Obviously, he had trouble putting thoughts to his actions, uncertain in his words about why he did anything he did, the actions were something entirely different, he was able to point out which was which correctly now that they were on the right sides. However, put next to each other, in the moment, the Klonopin and Xanax bottles probably felt exactly the same. 

"How many Klonopin did you take?"

Maybe he realised the bottles were in the wrong place at the moment, he may not realise that was the case yesterday, he thought he took the right ones.

"Didn't I take one… thought I took one… jus' enough to make it stop hurtin' an' feelin' like… like I was dyin' an' bein' crushed from… from the inside out… _everything hurt,_ but I… had two weeks left… could do it for Anael… couldn't fail like before… if I did enough, it'd go away…"

"Cas… you know you didn't fail. You did good."

Dean knew that smile he was being given, he knew it too goddamn well, from way back when, times he still felt okay with at least trying to smile, never quite meaning them beyond trying to convince someone he was alright and get them to stop talking about whatever it was they were talking about.

"Okay."

Castiel did not believe it himself.

That was something Dean would change his mind on, no matter how long it took him. After everything the professor had done for him, had selflessly given him, this had to be something he could do, that he would do.

Equal giving and receiving, that was the defining marker of this relationship.

Later, that would be touched on, when the man was no longer out of it in any way, shape or form. Still kind of tired, he walked slower and sometimes veered off or forgot what was being talked about. When Gabriel arrived and had groceries, he refused to let his brother carry anything made of glass after one case where he dropped a box of cookies and almost dropped a jar of lollipops. Plastic, yes, still alarming enough not to want to have juice or milk spilt everywhere.

More than anything, Castiel seemed frustrated, that he was not allowed to do things he usually did. As much as he would like to let him, it looked like his body was still lagging behind with what it wanted to do and eventually the professor left upstairs to go to sleep. Once he did, Gabriel was on him with plenty of questions and something changed gears in him, he was far more focused on organising the fruit than talking, mouth snapped shut.

He still answered, just… not with so many words.

Or any, for that matter.

If that bothered Gabriel, he said nothing on it, merely sighed, said he was going to make some food and Sam was coming back around nine because he had some assignments and study guides to do or something like that, he did not really bother asking too much. Sam always came back really late the week before finals, he always panicked that he was going to somehow fail even when he had such high grades and Dean saw his papers, they were better than good, his professors sometimes left comments saying just that.

Sam did text him a few times, told him he was taking breaks to eat and stuff and as long as he did not give himself a cytotoxic oedema or any equally fatal fate, he was okay with it.

It took awhile to get Castiel out of bed, not only because he was tired, he was genuinely upset about whatever lack of abilities he seemed to have and having to remind him of things that happened or were already said made it worse. Trying to explain to him that it was simply the pills that had yet to be flushed out of his system made him clam up even worse, not saying a word about anything, shaking hand holding his fork trying to twirl up the pasta finally slamming down after about fifteen minutes and he got up.

"I'm going to bed."

To bed, same as almost all day, the good thing was that every time he woke up, he improved more. By that logic, if he slept all night, he would be all better by tomorrow morning, right?

Right.

It would all be okay.

Gabriel, on the other hand, did not share this positive outlook and sighed, pushing his plate away.

"Christ, has he been like this all day?"

Dean sniffed.

"But he hasn't like, _done_ anything, has he?"

Knowing the Novak brothers the time he did, he thought he knew them decently well enough to be able to tell when something was up, when they wanted to avoid something, stuff of that nature from their tone and body language. Not that it exactly helped him out with Castiel the past two weeks and he tried to think of it as him simply knowing how to remain closed off when he really wanted to, must have needed it growing up, which then upset him for it being needed in the first place.

Anyway, he could tell what Gabriel wanted to say and could not spit out, his answer being a shake of his head then a gesture for him to follow. Up the stairs and into the office, the bottles were right were he left them, having forgotten all about them with his priority being Castiel not tripping down the stairs and eating and resting. The professor was already picking up the pills on the desk and their bottle, doing the same thing he did, counting them then looking at the original count in the bottle.

"You think he took too many of these?"

Dean snorted.

"Then, it was a gross accident."

That was more along the lines and he made a point to set up the bottles as he found them in his pocket and the other picked it up quickly enough, swearing and running his hands through his hair.

_"Fuck."_

Fuck was right.

"Alright, well… as long as he's alright now and… stuff."

Stuff.

Stuff could mean a lot of things and as he caught a glance at the frame hung on the wall, he reconsidered asking Castiel himself more and went to the next best person. Rapping his knuckles on the table to grab his attention, he redirect the look to the degree in the frame and there it was, those averted eyes and tension.

"Neat, isn't it? Graduated top of his class, 4.0, the whole shebang."

Dean stared.

"He was supposed to be recognised and shit, going places, youngest of that year, don't know about overall. I never got around to asking since I found him on the floor of his apartment the night before in a puddle of his own vomit."

Castiel never mentioned that. Then again, he did not mention anything really on what had happened and now Dean was not so sure he wanted to know all the details, not this close to what happened. Of course, he was the one who had to ask and the other was delivering, maybe a little too much.

"Turns out, from the little that I did get out of him, after Daphne and he split, things got real ugly. Not that she had anything directly to do with it, she was surprised when I called her, ready to rip her head off and even went to visit at the hospital. But, her friends and the dicks that had the gall to call him a friend all kind of turned on him, after their break up, started harassing him and spreading lies throughout the rest of the quarter, terrible sorts of shit he put up with because… well, fuck if I know, he never said."

That was a lie and they both knew it. Out of courtesy and not wanting to tear that old wound wide open, Dean did nothing and waited for him to finish, he must be almost done because he sighed and shook his head.

"Probably had enough of it, he was still trying to deal with things mommy dearest stuck in his head and depressed as all hell, he just… stopped trying, I guess. We found him a different psychiatrist and therapist after he was discharged, the ones he had then were crap, he put his life back together and acted like it never happened, like he can't remember a thing."

That was also a lie that was glaringly obvious and it was clear why it was ever allowed to remain as something akin to truth. It looked painful, recounting it. Hell, it was painful hearing and thinking about it, what type of horrible people would go around harassing a sweet guy like Castiel simply because a relationship did not go the way they would like it to or whatever bullshit they could think of that was somehow reason enough in their tiny little brains.

How it was reliving it, he could only imagine, of course it was easier pretending nothing ever happened.

Not a healthy thing to do, but hey, when was he ever a poster boy for the healthy coping and accepting of past issues?

This new information lingered in his head the rest of the night, long after they had left that room. He waited for Sam to get back, satisfied when he saw him with his own eyes and could check that everything was okay, being told that everything was alright and all he really wanted to do was shower and go to sleep. It turned out that he had swung by to get some clothes and junk for the both of them, upon Gabriel's insistence and okay, that was alright, he could deal with that.

If it meant he could be here with Castiel until he was all better and then some, he was completely fine with it.

Besides, sleeping in jeans was hardly comfortable for long periods of time.

It was still something he would do, for Castiel's sake, a little discomfort was nothing, though it did mean he stopped moving around so much when he got into bed with him, at a respectable distance, so that was a step in the right direction, meant he would not risk waking the other up because of it.

No, he could lay there and watch the other sleep, hear the soft breaths, see his chest rise and fall, reaching a hand out and never touching, it was not as necessary now to feel his heartbeat, not like before. It was still nice to keep his hand somewhat close, the normal close, for the usual amount of time then pull back, unusually calmed by this one simple act enough that he could go to sleep.

All in all, considering what was defined as comfortable and not, what was about a thousand times off in the wrong direction of that scale, there was a thought that it would be preferred a thousand times over than how he woke up the next day.

"Dean!"

Jerking awake, his hands flew up, first response to hit something or wrap around whatever it was that jostled him so violently, managing to clip an arm. An arm that belonged to Gabriel, a Gabriel that looked terrified like no one would ever believe he could be, not with how cocky and certain he always was. However, Dean believed it, he was not in that category that thought it impossible and straightened up, hands flat on the bed.

A bed that was empty on the other side.

_Oh, no._

Normally, he would not jump to conclusions, Castiel could have been in the restroom or downstairs or something, doing his stuff, must be tested enough to do that now, that was it. Yet this was not any normal circumstance or else the other would not have practically shaken him awake, looking like he did, and he would not have told him those three dreadful words.

"Castiel is gone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to start off saying that writing the part for Castiel was kind of hard, trying to put it together in a way that would accurately portray how the thought process goes, how broken up it get, how thoughts kind of get all jumbled up, the way speech kind of slurs together and doesn't make sense sometimes, and so on. I remember what that's like, the bits I can remember, and I've been told what I said, but it's mostly one very big blur. It's unsettling, honestly.
> 
> I also referred to the class schedule of a college and such to see approximately how many students Castiel would have, considering he has six classes when adding Anael's in and the fact that at least half of them are considered the high-tier psychology classes in a community college. 
> 
> And, I'm not so mean that I gave this backstory simply because I'm not having a good few days. Like it was mentioned in the chapter before, Castiel was admitted to the ER at one point and Gabriel says he didn't overdose, implying he did do so at one point in time. This, I put in this point for a variety of reasons that I feel I should elaborate two main points. 
> 
> One was to show that despite how I portray Castiel, as this helpful, kind man that does look like he's got his life together, jobs he loves, all that, it doesn't mean he's always been that way or that he doesn't have bad days or weeks and so on even now. He's diagnosed with depression and it's pretty severe, to boot, so I wanted to make that general point that it can really be anyone who deals with depression or other struggles, not just those who "look like it." 
> 
> Another reason was that I wanted to show that regardless of what some people think, for whatever reason they may, males can be the target of harassment and abuse and the like. The way society teaches, parents and adults alike, peers and more, it's often thought that men cannot be abused, assaulted. All these terrible things that some think can only happen to females never happen to males. I've seen it more times than I can count, at work, on the street, and more recently, I've seen it twice that I know of on campus. So, I know this isn't going to magically erase that or is some great campaign against it. 
> 
> All it is, I guess, is my little contribution to the world of writing about this particular issue and that falls under the usual stuff I like to write about because it's misunderstood sometimes or people don't think twice about it other than what they hear and there's a lot of psychological factors to it and I really like psychology, it's fascinating.
> 
> Dean is fascinating in this story, too, he really is. Such an interesting guy, talking then not, not thinking straight all the time, stuck in this odd sort of middle ground for now, it was pretty traumatising and brought up too much from before, being at the hospital and seeing Castiel there, heart stopping, all of that. Everyone is fascinating and interesting to me, honestly, I like trying to learn about people and so on and so forth. 
> 
> I'm not sure when I'll update this or any other stories I have going and I apologise for that.


	14. 12.05.15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has to find Castiel, above all else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry, it has been a really long time since I updated. There has just been a lot going on and I have not been handling it well or more all my efforts have been in trying to handle it as well as I can. So, I don't really know about this chapter, I really did try to piece it all together properly and how it was supposed to go, but I do apologise if it's everywhere or anything. 
> 
> Warnings just in case, let's see. Mentions of past suicide attempts, self-demeaning talk, I'll add anything else I see or if you feel I should, feel free to leave a comment. 
> 
> Enjoy.

"Castiel is gone."

Where to was the obvious question and he got up in less than a second, nearly crumpling down from the sudden weight on his left leg and never did he hate the stupid thing as much as he did now. Using the nightstand as a support, he decided fuck putting on jeans and slipped on his shoes, his sweats would have to do.

"When?"

Speaking was strange for a good many reasons still and he had about ten and a half tons of reasons he believed he still ought not to do it, but Gabriel could not interpret as easily and quickly as Castiel could.

Castiel, who was fuck knows where and he might not be fully recuperated either.

"I noticed about ten minutes ago. Didn't see him downstairs or outside in the yard, I looked everywhere. Car's gone, too. I called Kali for a ride."

Fuck, Castiel went driving?

Dean never considered Castiel to be stupid or careless or anything like that and he would hold to that now, even if he took the car. Maybe, he did not grasp yet that he should not be driving, he could barely walk on his own just yesterday and that seemed to be something that had to be told to him a number of times before he realised well shit, maybe that was why he kept tripping and bumping into stuff everywhere.

"I'm going."

Since Gabriel called Kali, who he knew was a professor at the college, it would be safe to rule out him being there, she would have been asked to look. By this point, he knew places the professor would go and not that he was all huzzah's about it, knowing what it stemmed from and frustrations it caused him, but his adherence to routines would be helpful at this point. It meant he only went to certain places and never tended to deviate from them, that would only upset him and cause discomfort.

So, as he grabbed his phone–of course Castiel's was still there–along with his wallet and bus pass, he laid out all the places possible and considered which was the closest and most likely he would find him.

Gabriel watched the student bustle around before he gave him a nod as he was leaving the room, frowning lightly. He would have asked him if he wanted a ride, it would make it go a lot faster, honestly, and it was courteous and shit. And he may be kind of a dick in some people's eyes, pulling pranks and all, but he was damn well courteous. Because he was, as odd as it may sound to others, he did not ask him.

Dean may have ridden in the ambulance with Castiel, that did not mean whatever fear or such of cars suddenly vanished into thin air and he could get into one and be perfectly fine. That day at the hospital, he looked like death warmed over when he got into the emergency room, he was surprised he was even able to hold the clipboard and pen or remain standing before he took over. So, he would let him do this his own way and he would do it his way, they had their phones, they could keep in contact.

Thankfully, Sam was already off at school.

Initially, he figured if Dean did not like cars and would not get in one, even had a panic attack once that he knew because of one, maybe Sam also had some of that in him, from whatever happened to them in the past. Though, that was proven wrong when they were downstairs the night they arrived and he told the younger Winchester that Dean had gone in the ambulance, not him, and Sam had choked on his coffee then explained enough, including that it was due to Dean's aversion to cars that he did not get in one, to spare him that anxiety, though he himself was pretty okay with them.

Then, Gabriel felt a little bad because it had apparently been four years since Dean so much as contemplated being that close to any kind of car or smaller vehicle, much less stepped into one. That should have been a huge step in whatever type of recovery he was going to make that he should of made of his own free will, not because he was scared shitless Castiel was dying and had to be there.

Though, kind of his own choice made of his own free will, right? He could have said no and taken the bus, but then–

Man, this was all sorts of psychological stuff, this was not his thing, he felt he was overthinking it and he was going to leave all that to his brother, he could deal with sociological aspects of things better.

At least, as soon as he found his brother, and a ping from his phone let him know Kali was here, so the possibility of finding him was a little closer than it was ten seconds ago.

Good start.

\---

If there was ever a time he wanted the bus to say screw the rules and speed its way along, it was now. The shitty thing about buses was that Dean never knew what he was going to get. Was it going to be crowded or would there only be three people on it? Would the air conditioning work or not? Would it be zooming along the streets or would it be slower than a goddamn snail because it was old as hell or the driver enjoyed taking their sweet ass time?

This bus was somewhere in the middle, a little faster than average, though that might also be because of the hour, but whatever.

Tapping his foot impatiently, he almost ripped the cord off when he tugged on it to alert the bus driver to make a stop, already getting up and going to the back door and waiting. As soon as it was opening, he had already waved a hasty thanks at the driver and shoved his way out, speed walking as fast as he could and the repeating thought of, "Doesn't hurt, doesn't hurt, stop being a dick," circulating and directed towards his leg.

The closest spot Castiel always would go to was the store, which he had actually skipped because today, as he knew it, was not grocery day and he doubt the professor was going there for an apple or a bag of cherries or whatever breakfast he decided upon. And, really, out of all the places, this one stuck out to him the most, so he came here first.

It was a bit of a walk from the bus stop and he made it, he walked all the way down, through the parking lot and pausing to look around, there he was.

Castiel was sitting on a swing and let God strike him down if that was not the saddest fucking picture ever, the way he was gripping the chains, eyes downcast and a pitiful way of swinging back and forth.

It was disturbingly wrong, to see that, when he recalled the last–and first–time he was on a swing, how he looked. Dean hardly realised he was walking over until it felt different when he stepped, on the sand now, and it was loud enough that Castiel should have known he was there, yet he did not look up.

"Cas."

The creaks of the swing carried on eerily for a few seconds before he got a quiet response.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean moved to sit down on the swing next to his, watching the other for a few moments, how his gloved hands flexed and clenched the chains tighter then forcibly relaxed.

"Gabriel says you took the car?"

"I did. I parked it in a lot five minutes from the house and walked the rest of the way."

If he parked it in a lot, chances were there were plenty of other cars and none of them would likely consider that. Even if they did find the car, they would look around the area and not put together that he simply left it there. A smart move, he had to relent, he might have fallen for it if he had not thought of the park first. But the fact that Castiel walked all the way here was something to note. At an average pace, from around the house after a five minute drive to here, it was maybe, at the least, half an hour. Not that Castiel was against walking, though it was something worth noting.

"You didn't take your phone. Your brother was worried."

He was worried, he felt that went without saying.

"I know."

Dean pursed his lips together.

"You don't want me to call him."

"No."

"Or talk to him."

"No."

"And you didn't want to be found."

"No."

"Then why come here?"

Castiel stayed silent.

Dean kept going.

"Because if you went somewhere else, I wouldn't have found you."

There was no answer.

He sighed softly as he craned his neck up some, looking up at the sky, utterly blue and clear, he even saw a bird flitting by.

"And I think that's worth something, isn't it? You didn't want to be found by Gabriel. You came here because I'd know, like you know what I want to say when no one else does. But, I'm not as good at it as you, Cas, even though I'd like to be for you, to know what I got to say and cheer you up. I'm not good at a lot of things, especially talking, but I can try, if you do, too. And not like, words anyone can say, you know, but word words, words with meaning and junk, the way clients do with you and you listen. I'm no MFT, but I can listen really well."

Not having spoken for so long and sucking at things regarding emotions and those kinds of things, his own words were like a big disastrous pile that threatened to tip over and crush him at any moment, they felt odd leaving his mouth and he was certain that he fucked up somewhere in the middle of it with what he was really trying to say and was going to push him away further. At least, that was his thought before Castiel sighed and he saw his jaw clench, the male pushing up his glasses.

"It's… I couldn't do it."

Dean let him take as long as he needed.

"I tried… Dean, you have to understand, I tried. But… all I can see is… how I failed. And I can't believe… I've never thought that I'm good enough, but I truly wanted… I just wanted to do at least that for you."

Now, he had to speak up because this was kind of confusing.

"Do what for me?"

Not like he figured he deserved anything.

"I wanted to tell you it was all going to be alright."

… What?

That was not what he was expecting and the professor dropped his hands from the chains onto his lap, thumb pressing into the palm of his right hand, eyes on the plastic bracelet from the hospital and eyebrows pinched together.

"I can't… I still can't remember what happened. It's all… blurred. Or, mostly all blurred. Because, I… I should likely remember other things more. The monitor, the doctor, the ride to the ER, something like that, isn't that what people say they remember most? I don't though, not really, it's all very vague. The thing I remember the clearest… is seeing you by the bed and how you looked. And how I couldn't tell you it was going to be alright, how much it hurt that I couldn't."

That was not anywhere in the ballpark of things he was expecting, not at all, and he was at a real loss of what to say that was even remotely appropriate at this time. Then he really had to think about it, what he said and back to the hospital.

Castiel kept saying it hurt.

It hurt to see.

Dean assumed he was talking about the lights or how it was all white, he even mentioned it to the doctor, that the lights were too bright, but that was the only time he mentioned what it was that hurt, after he had talked to him.

Was it this, instead, that he meant that hurt?

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tried to offer some reassurance.

"I knew, though. I mean, I didn't know you were trying to tell me then, but you're a good guy, Cas, of course you'd say that it would be okay if you could have. And, I thought that the whole time. Everything would be okay."

Hell, that was the only thought that was clear as a bell.

This time, it was Dean's turn to look at the ground, kicking up a bit of sand.

"I'm bad with hospitals, is all. I just-"

The words lodged in his throat and were a painful block with jagged edges trying to force their way out of him, the same way his thoughts turned out to be when he tried to think about it, chest tightening. But, if he explained, maybe Castiel would understand why it bothered him so much, why it was not him, it was hospitals in general.

And he said he would, he did. After hearing what Gabriel had to say, after pretty much using Castiel's honesty yesterday to find out what had happened to him, he said he would tell him, that was what this relationship was about. Equal giving and receiving. The professor never pushed him to talk about it, never demanded him to do anything more than what he saw he was alright with.

Yeah, maybe Dean did tell him what he was diagnosed with and yeah, maybe he spoke up for once in his life since he was New Dean and not Old Dean and yeah, maybe he rode in an ambulance when he swore he would never step foot in anything other than a bus and yeah, maybe he stayed in a hospital for him when he swore he would never enter one again, what of it?

Those were all his choice, Castiel never forced him to do any of that.

And he was not forcing him to speak up now, no.

This was his choice.

"Last time I was in one, I woke up nearly over a week after the crash. I was… scared, think it's because that's the last thing I felt before I passed out. I was lucky, they said, surgeries saved me and I guess my own stubbornness to not die. I had more stitches and burns and bruises and scrapes than I had actual healthy skin, I thought, because it was the truth. There were what seemed like only patches of me from before, you know, they just couldn't save enough for him to survive. They said it would mostly all heal, they just couldn't do anything more then for my hands or my leg, burnt but lucky to still kind of work, though I couldn't even feel my leg, thought they had lopped it off at first. I didn't believe them, when they said it would heal, there wasn't enough left, Old Dean died in the Impala that night."

The scars were still all there, plenty of scars and wounds to prove them wrong, nothing healed like they said and honestly, he spent most of his time thinking that was fair for what he caused.

"The worst thing, though, was that after all that, they just blurted out my dad was gone. Kind of like an, 'oh, by the way, he's dead' type of thing. And Sammy was there, he started crying and saying it was his fault, because he couldn't save us both, had to choose, dad was pretty much gone already by the time they got us there. Maybe he might have survived if just the one car hit us, but we were at an intersection, truck coming couldn't stop, so we got rammed into again, us and the other car, right off the road and shit, into something much worse. I still hear the horns and see the tire marks, when I close my eyes for too long, can smell the burning flesh and remember how hard it was to breathe."

These were things he knew he dealt with, they were hard to ignore, impossible, really. Although, he liked the pretence of ignoring them, of never really thinking these were from a personal memory, playing them off like some horror movie he might have watched as a little boy that scared him senseless. That was easier than accepting it happened to him, that all of that was truly real, that the smells and sounds and tastes and everything were his and his alone. It was easier than realising how badly this had all fucked him up to the point where a goddamn horn of any kind made him want to drop or run or how something seized in his chest, how cars that suddenly zoomed by innocently made him recoil away or something as simple as the emblem of Castiel's car had triggered a panic attack.

It was easier not to face how much that broke him and he had been unable to fix himself.

Or fix anyone else close to him.

"I couldn't tell Sammy it wasn't his fault, it was mine, had a tube stopping me and I could barely move as it was. I didn't like being that helpless, still don't. So, hospitals are death, you know, just feel like there's someone there, picking people off one by one, like reapers, and you never know who it might be. I didn't want you to be next."

That all tumbled out and he had to take a deep breath after because he was just running his mouth. If he did not, it would not all come out and he would lose his nerve and the tightness in his chest would win, which was really counterproductive considering he was trying to help Castiel, not pile on another problem.

Castiel was quiet the whole time, peering over and listening, expression not shifting from the neutral one he wore. No pity or anything like he knew so many would have. That made it a bit easier to combat the clench in his chest. Finally, he opened his mouth to talk, eyes averted.

"I was twenty, when I tried to commit suicide, a month away from turning twenty-one. I never told Gabriel this or even my therapist, but that wasn't the first time I seriously considered and attempted to end my life. The first time I did was when Gabriel left and came to California for school, UCSF. I know why he left, I understood and accepted it, but I still felt abandoned, I had no one anymore because he couldn't keep in contact, our mother wouldn't allow it. About five months in, I thought maybe I could just hang myself or bleed out, anything that wasn't a big public spectacle, just get it done. I didn't, obviously, but that was honestly because my mother caught me with the rope I was going to use. She called me selfish, ridiculous, put me down, not the best thing to do to a fourteen year old who wanted to end their life."

Fuck, the mom sounded horrible and somehow familiar.

"It never really got better, even when I started grad school. I met Daphne there and she was very kind, more than anyone I had ever met. Her friends, not as much, they would always say foul things when she wasn't there, tried to touch me or pressure me to eat out, demand to know when I was going to start treating Daphne like my girlfriend, mocking me because I was 'too OCD' and was a 'sissy' that freaked out over nothing, lots of things that they thought made it that I didn't deserve her or even to be alive."

Those people, on the other hand, sounded like douches, plain and simple, he would have punched them in the face if he ever crossed paths with them in that time.

"I told Gabriel they started after she and I broke up, I didn't want to tell him it was since we met. I think, all of that, it reminded me of how my mother treated me. She was dead, of course, I knew she was, I had to arrange everything before I left Pontiac. Still, I had this notion in my head that I would never really be free of her and that was, what's the saying, the straw that broke the camel's back? So, I took all the pills I could find, took them with some type of alcohol, I don't even know what it was, I went to the closest liquor store and picked the first thing I saw. A rather shady place, I suppose, since I wasn't even asked for my ID. I know it tasted terrible, even if the bottle looked fairly colourful. I now realise that was not the best solution and I shouldn't allow others perception of me to taint my own, though it's taken time and I don't think I've retaught myself that entirely yet."

Both of them remained silent after that, only noise around the groaning of the chains and that was okay. They both had a lot to think about, Dean decided, on both what they said themselves and what the other said. Naturally, Dean sucked at talking like this, he just did, he had the emotional range of a teaspoon, he could admit that. They could try and do the whole song and dance of spilling out their feelings, saying "I feel so and so because of this and that," though he doubt that would get them anywhere.

For being a licensed therapist and knowing whatever therapy techniques he did, Castiel did not seem keen on opening up himself in that manner and that was perfectly fine with him. Somehow, this way of just sharing things that happened, bad shit that screwed them over one way or another was enough. It was nothing more than talking, he supposed, reciting memories and remaining fairly detached to them, trying to discuss them the way one might the weather or a train schedule.

But, it worked, in a weird way, to understand what had happened. A lot of the professor's habits and reactions to things, the way he put others ahead of himself and why he was so willing to let that one dick of a professor Zachariah get away with insulting him and shit–he knew only because of Uriel mentioning it–yet had been so quick to jump to his defence that one time during the committee meeting, all of these things made more sense now from that one simple talk.

Was that weird, did people do that?

Some people had to sit down and talk things through, he knew that. Others maybe did not have to. Or maybe they were that close that it was easy to understand. Instead of saying, "I'm sorry to hear that," or "That's terrible," or anything of that sort, one of those proper responses, Castiel did one better, in his opinion, and spoke of a personal issue he had. That made it more meaningful, he thought, because anyone could say they were sorry or offer condolences and advice. Not everyone, however, would be capable of sharing a part of themselves like that in response, that took a lot more effort and trust on their behalf, which meant to Dean a hell of a lot more than even the best worded apology anyone could give him.

Or maybe it was just how they were because like he said, Castiel always seemed to know what he was trying to say even when he did not speak and he could do it, too, for him, simply to a lesser extent. Whilst Castiel could probably do it for everyone he met, Dean could only do it for the professor as well as he could.

That was more than enough for him.

Except, one thing.

"You're good enough, Cas. Hell, more than that. But, if you can't believe that yet, that's okay, I can wait. I'll keep telling you that you're good enough until you can believe that then I'll tell you that you're more than that and I'll keep doing that and maybe one day you'll see you how I see you. I don't think you failed, either. If you look at it that way, then aren't I the one who's supposed to grade you, your performance or whatever?"

Castiel stared.

That was a start.

"The way I see it, you didn't make me want to drop your classes, you didn't ask me to try be like everyone else, you've been good to me and everything, so that's like an A. And you buy me food and stuff, so A plus."

The professor let out a short laugh at that and Dean sniffed, pleased by that and his face felt kind of weird.

It took a ludicrous amount of time to realise that was due to his lips quirking up in some sort of half smile.

Freaking weird.

Castiel looked down at the bracelet again that was put on in a way that was almost ready to slip off his wrist. He had originally kept adjusting it so it stayed on and this time moved to slip it off, reaching his other hand into the pocket of his jeans. As expected, there was a pen in there that he used to scribble something on the sticker placed on the bracelet, signing it once he finished and holding it out for Dean to take.

"You're wrong, too, then, just so you know. You're good at a lot of things. I could go on for days, listing them all, so I'll do one in the morning and one at night. You're very good at pushing me on the swing, I enjoy that, it makes me smile and I don't think anyone can measure up to your skills."

Emeralds looked down at the bracelet he was offered and had taken, reading over what was written down.

_Veo en tu vida todo lo viviente._

_Así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera._

_\- Castiel Novak  
12.05.15_

Now, Dean had no idea really what any of that said, he deduced it was Spanish, he knew porque was like why or something and tu was your, that was it. What he did know was why he signed his name and dated it, the bracelet said he was admitted on the third, so if he had a fear of losing him, all he really had to do was look at the familiar penmanship rather than blocky letters to see that.

Biting back that odd feeling, he wiggled the bracelet on before standing up and walking behind the other, gripping the chains tight.

"Ready for an awesome time?"

Castiel laughed and held on.

"Yes."

It was not the end of whatever moment they had, not really. Dean liked to think it was more like they kept it in mind and it became sort of a natural thing, like breathing or common knowledge. Just, common knowledge for them sort of deal.

For now, Dean focused on giving him a starting push and leaning on pole to watch him, pulling out his phone at one point and recording, he might have also taken a picture or two.

So what?

Although he should have told Gabriel, Castiel said from the start he did not want to talk to Gabriel or anything, which he most likely would have to if he told him where he was. Rather than dwell on that, he watched the male jump off the swing, immediately jerking forward when he saw him stumble on his landing, dropping down to his knees and keeping from completely falling flat on the sand with his hands.

The professor smiled at him to reassure him he was alright and pushed himself up.

"It seems the medications haven't quite worn off. That might explain why I couldn't stop shaking and my lung felt about five times too small when I was walking here."

Dean stared, wide eyed at that and the other simply smiled as he stood up.

It was hard to tell if he was joking or not.

So, he took it as a little of both and huffed in amusement, for both their sakes.

"Should we go back, then? I've probably given Gabriel a heart attack, if not at least a handful of cavities."

"Cavities?"

That was not usually what one got when they worried, it was more high blood pressure and as the professor said, heart attacks.

"He eats a lot more candy when he's stressed out, even if he doesn't believe it."

Gabriel did a lot of things backwards and by this point, Dean was no longer as surprised.

"Should I text him? He could come and pick you up."

"What about you?"

"Bus."

Castiel frowned some at that. It seemed wrong to do so, the other had seemingly gotten right out of bed and come all this way to make sure he was alright, leaving just because he was fine with being in a car was not right in the least.

"Tell him we'll be back soon. I have enough for the bus."

There was always a first for everything, right?

Yes, the thought of being on a bus made him anxious for a good many reasons and he did not want to begin to contemplate how filthy it was or the small little space between seats, but he could do it for Dean, all he had to do was focus on something else, keep breathing, not think about how that would all stick to him or how it was likely not anywhere near a good idea right now to take medication if he had it with him.

Mild pain triggers the release of glutamate in the spinal cord and stronger pain triggers the release of glutamate and substance P.

And wow, what a terrible fact his brain spat out to try and distract him, how did it occur to him thinking about pain would somehow be better?

No matter, as long as he looked okay externally, this was fine, perfectly, completely fine. A bus was not slow, right? Granted, he heard a few of his students complaining that it was and some even sent him emails telling them they were stuck on one and on their way or that the bus broke down, though that was rare, right? It was not like they took that long, he would get off in no time after he boarded, right?

Right?

God, let that be it.

There were a lot of things he had yet to confront and he was alright with that, honest he was. After all these years never really doing so, settling with the levelled ground medication gave him, he was not expecting everything to go away on the blink of an eye, each issue had to be dealt with individually and given the appropriate amount of time.

But this?

If he were being honest, then he might as well admit how uncomfortable this made him, how he was already feeling ill, simply walking to the bus stop and knowing what he was going to do, how his lungs felt too small already, all of it. On the other hand, he was being completely honest in his head, not the most useful thing when no one could hear what was in his head.

Or maybe it was helpful because of people knew what he thought sometimes, those sudden obtrusive thoughts or his more pessimistic thoughts… well, he would rather not find out what might have happened.

"Cas."

Stopping at the call of his name and looking up from the sidewalk, he noticed he was almost going to pass the bus stop and smiled in a way he even knew was awkward and stilted.

"Ah, my apologies. I was thinking."

"We can walk back."

"It's alright."

"I'm fine with walking."

"And I'm fine with the bus."

This was getting them nowhere.

The conversation was going to bounce back and forth with no sort of solution if one of them did not do something soon other than say no, it was fine because it was obvious neither of them was going to admit they were uncomfortable with what was going to happen. A bus or half an hour walk, that was going to screw one of them over.

Wrinkling his nose at the cycle they seemed not to be getting out of, Castiel refined from running his hand through his hair and contemplated their dilemma. Dean was clearly not going to let him go on the bus and that was sweet, he cared enough to be willing to walk just so he would not have to face that. Yet, if they did walk, that would take its toll on Dean's leg, there was more than once that he noticed the student was pushing himself and was having trouble. Those were not as long a walk they had as what they would have now back to the house.

Eyes scanning the area, azures landed on a possible solution and he glanced at the other, smiling.

"Do you trust me?"

Dean sniffed.

Whatever need Castiel had to ask if he trusted him, Dean was not expecting his answer to be the thing that sent him off jogging over with a quick, "I'll be back." And what he expected even less was the man to come back with what he did.

"A shopping cart."

He felt like saying it was necessary to actually comprehend what he had brought back and it was somehow not quite sinking in when he did.

Castiel brought him a shopping cart.

"Yes. I find it's an adequate solution for our dilemma. If you're comfortable enough, I can push you."

Forgetting the whole idea of how he was twenty-six and Castiel was a twenty-seven year old with the most dapper dressing style he ever did see, a freaking Masters and pretty notable standing at the college he taught at which happened to be maybe less than ten minutes away, there was one issue.

"I'm not going to fit in there."

He was six feet tall and something–he stopped paying attention to that years ago–amount of pounds, how was he expected to fit in a shopping cart?

"And I thought I was going to break the swing. If it helps, this is the bigger cart."

If he had more pride, he might have taken that playful jibe with more insult rather than snorting.

He was spending so much time with Sam or something, that sounded like his kind of joke.

Examining the cart, he pursed his lips together, taking in the path they would have to take and the method they would do so. He trusted Castiel, he did, and the guy had to be a pretty damn good driver, right? He drove all the way from Pontiac when he was eighteen, he drove practically everywhere, he could probably drive a fucking car from way back in the day if he was shown only once, he picked things up like that. And this was a grocery cart, they were something that was used all the time.

What could go wrong with a freaking cart?

The problem now was how was he going to get in because these things moved a lot when a person tried to get in them, that was hard to forget, even all these years later. When they were younger and he had to go grocery shopping because their dad was absent or unwilling for whatever reason–which was a lot of the time–he would always let little Sammy ride in it and getting him in was hard.

A little easier now, right? They were older so they were stronger now.

Choice made, he supposed.

Gesturing Castiel to push the cart closer to the bench, he grabbed his left leg and heaved it up, using his hands as extra support for the lack of muscle made it less embarrassing and he would not needlessly act like a dick. With no longer needing to support it, he was able to push himself up to stand on the bench then get his left leg in the cart that Castiel was holding steady and the other.

He was a bit wobbly at first and felt the cart was going to roll away even with the other there as he sat down, but he did it and he was sitting in this cart, knees drawn up to accommodate and hands weakly gripping the sides.

"Wait."

Dean tilted his head back to see the professor removing his jacket, and folding it up along with the request, "Lean forward, please." As he did, he felt something slot in between his back and the metal of the cart.

"There. You can sit on it, if you'd like to move it."

Dean would be left wondering how he was ever this lucky and grunted an affirmative, not being able to form proper words he thought would do justice.

"Hold on."

If someone told him he would be here now, at twenty-six years old that returned back to school, actually had something of a future, in a relationship with a man who had become far more than another one of his professors, had actually begin talking and interacting with others, he never would have believed them.

Yet here he was, with the man he was in a relationship with that became more than another professor and had been the catalyst to the whole damn thing, his continuing education and thinking of the future, talking and interacting, all of it. And this man was pushing him down the street in a freaking shopping cart, currently following his gesture to go by running and hopping onto the bottom basket, using it like a scooter whenever they slowed down, laughing. When they got to a steeper area, he slowed and Dean cocked his head back again.

Dean blinked.

Castiel smiled.

They went down as quick as they could whilst keeping the cart in control and if one or both of them shrieked in delight, smiling, all the way down, then that was for them to know.

Here he was.

Here they were.

And Dean was more than happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice talks, isn't that lovely. So, there's more of Dean's background, what happened in his accident and a little bit of the after because I know it was probably already a little clear as a reader it was a bad accident, but I thought it was important for Dean to talk about it with Castiel and just actually say it aloud, acknowledge it happened and how he views it. I don't claim to know what treatment people get after a car crash like his, so it's pretty vague, which was fitting because I doubt he'd just lay it all out in perfect detail. 
> 
> And, same goes for Castiel. I think, a lot of people see those who are successful and kind of never consider they might have had troubles in the past that they still hold onto in the present, so it was really important to me, as the writer, to make this a point I touched on. As well as show character development for both of them, Castiel's progress since then and Dean's because he originally started off thinking of Castiel like this smart, successful guy who probably never had a hard time in his life and he's changed his views a lot since that first meeting. 
> 
> I'm a really sucker for making cute stuff happen and such after a bad time, which led to the idea of his hospital bracelet and being pushed on a swing and grocery cart. All that reading poems and AP Spanish classes in high school paid off, that was neat. The grocery cart, I took that from personal experience. I have a bad knee, so my girlfriend sometimes pushes me in grocery carts when I can't walk long distances or we need to get somewhere quick and I can't go very fast without hurting. What Castiel says he wanted to say and remembers is another thing taken from experience and it's not fun at all, it's really not. 
> 
> That's it for notes, I think.


	15. 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new year means a new chance to most people, an opportunity to start over, do it all right. For Dean, it was just an opportunity to fuck up all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile, but here's the new chapter. I got a few comments asking me if the last chapter was the final one and after thinking about it, I decided that it would be, in a way. So, I went and renamed all the previous chapters, made a point to show it was the end of that year, start of a new year, new story and all.
> 
> Not many warnings to put on here, I think. Self-loathing thoughts, mostly.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

"I don't want to."

This was downright fucking humiliating.

"Dean, every time you complain, you take a step. This isn't discouraging me to stop."

Well, yeah, because he could bitch and moan all he wanted and Castiel would never say anything like quit bitching and moaning. Voicing his distaste of this was a good enough coping method, vented his frustrations in some way other than physically and the professor was right. Not long after his comment, he lifted his left leg without any help at all from his hands and took the step, wobbled only a little from the sudden additional weight when he lifted his right leg to join it.

Pretty good, considering this was the third time he was going up these supposed "big stairs." They were really only about five steps, but he had made it a point to go up them three times up and down because it was go big or go home.

Which, he kind of was home, in a way, he supposed. Ever since early December, the Winchester brother's found themselves at the Novak's more often than not and the two professors were completely fine with it, the house was pretty damn big and having only two occupants, two more was not an issue. Besides, Castiel insisted that this was the better place to do this, there was more room, especially in the backyard, so there was less risk of hitting or falling into something.

Anyway, this was his third time up, he was a little winded and held onto the rails, catching his breath for a moment.

He really hated stupid stairs. Even before his accident, he hated running up stairs and did it far too often because he was going to be late if he did not, the elevator was too slow and he figured other people genuinely needed it, he was not going to take it from them because he was lazy and would not use his legs that, back then, were perfectly functional.

He could feel Castiel still holding on tight to the waist belt he had put on. Or harness, whatever the hell that lady called it. Whatever the people said, it helped the other hold onto him without actually holding him and still allowed him to keep him upright in case he tripped. He had, once, and he had almost quit then and there.

Clearly, he was still going with it.

Because, he managed the stairs down and then collapsed into one of the patio chairs, calling it a day and sniffing at Castiel's declaration of how much time he took today before he took it down.

The professor, he still had no idea what to think about him. Kind and caring seemed like really cheap words to try and describe him since he could not think of anyone else who might be this accommodating to him. Honestly, most other people probably would have told him go to see an actual certified person, go to therapy, go do this and do that, all that bullshit that made Dean take about twenty steps backs from anything remotely close to therapy.

Castiel, on the other hand, had merely listened to him when he mentioned it all, nodded, and asked what he would like to do instead. Hell, he had gone with him to ask questions and talked to some colleagues to know what to do, even bought the stuff that was needed because he said it was no problem at all and Dean should save his money for classes or the apartment, he knew how much it could be and would spare him the stress of not having enough.

So, yeah, kind and caring seemed like understatements.

This was only confirmed when he held out a bottle of water for him to take with a small smile that he should have returned and he did try, though it felt odd still, it might have come out looking weird. He unscrewed the top and downed about half of the bottle, taking the time after to look at the bottle and the words written down the side.

Voss.

The Novak's had these brands he never really heard of before or ate things he never quite considered eating, which made for an interesting time whenever he tried them. Like, this soda that was soda, but not really? It was kombucha, though it tasted like soda and said soda on the label, he called it soda. Or those beet chips he tried once that blew his mind because who the hell ate beets and who the hell ate them as chips? Apparently, a lot of people and he just never knew.

The thing he liked about it was that they never were pushy about it, they never looked down if he was unwilling to try it and Castiel did not call him a murderer or scum of the earth if he wanted some meat, demanding he change his dietary preference simply because he did not eat meat or anything like that. When they spent Christmas together, for example, Castiel had asked Sam and him what they usually ate then rather than berate them on the horrible conditions of animals and what horrid people they were for eating ham, he ended up asking them if this ham or that one was better because he never picked one out in his life and wanted them to enjoy it.

He had also panicked about how to cook the ham because, again, he had never done it and Dean had kicked him out of the kitchen to do it himself.

Good times, really.

There were some bad ones in there, yeah, that was expected. One time that Dean had still not quite forgiven himself on was just last week, when he was working with the little hand held balls to help him strengthen his grip and junk, he had gotten mad and not looked where he was throwing it and had accidentally thrown it right at Castiel's face. Which, way to start the fucking new year. It had made him more distressed that he was bleeding from his nose, that something was coming out of him, than the pain itself and Dean felt like a dick because he could do nothing about it, touching him to clean him up and check on him would make his panic worse. That left him waiting until Castiel came out and whether he tried to hide it or not, he could see how it had continued to affect him for some time.

Back to the good times.

"It's 2016."

It was weird to think about that. Almost exactly a year ago, he never knew anyone named Castiel, never took a psychology course in his life, never said a peep or went out. And now he was in a relationship with someone named Castiel, he had taken most of the psychology classes at school, was talking occasionally and went out on freaking dates and shit.

He really had to thank Sam for ruining that sudoku puzzle for him with his persistence.

Not that he would, emotional talks were not his strong suit and he felt weird doing them, not something he had gotten over yet, considering what he learnt for practically a quarter of a century said no to those moments.

"It appears so. It's the time for resolutions people never keep, parties and far too much talk of sex and drinking."

Eyes wide, he glanced over at the other, surprised to hear that coming from him because well, that was one of the first times he ever heard him mention that, he figured sex was just unsettling to him, all that touching and fluids and such, to which he gave a small shrug as a response.

"You wouldn't believe the amount of times I've heard about people's sex lives during sessions in painfully graphic detail."

Dean did not want to imagine what the poor guy heard in his time.

Instead, he drank some more water, debated whether or not to open his mouth and finally did.

"If I went… would I see someone else?"

Dean had said it in passing enough for Castiel to know what he was asking and nodded.

"It wouldn't be ethical for me to see you, there are too many issues to consider."

Conflict of interest, mainly, it could severely affect his judgment and decisions.

"But, if you truly wanted to, I could set up a session with Pamela. Or Hannah, perhaps, she's very nice as well."

Dean scrunched his nose at that, he preferred what they had now, fuck whether it was in a professional environment or not, places like that were usually stuffy anyway, in his experience. The professor made an effort not to make it that way, however, he knew that, he had gone to visit him at work once he started again and the room was clean, like he expected, but it was friendly.

"Or, we could go eat something now. Gabriel should be coming home soon."

He much preferred that and hauled himself up, walking back inside and pleased with himself, his gait was still noticeably off, not enough improvement for others to see, though enough that he felt the small difference and that was better than nothing and good progress for a month.

They ate something small, just some chips–carrot chips, so what if he liked them? They were good–and some of that soda because they were waiting for Gabriel to get back to eat, Sam had arrived about a half hour ago from hanging out with Jess and her family. Dean was more confused on where the hell was the guy, where could he possibly have decided to go, it made no sense, he just up and left, in the middle of watching something. A rerun, but still. A part of him was also concerned because people were careless, especially now, having parties and getting drunk and doing stupid shit because hell, it was the new year, they might as well.

The chips did not distract him enough, he kept checking the time, bouncing his right leg and drumming his fingers, he was probably being annoying as hell until Castiel perked up all of a sudden, eyes moving towards the backyard.

"He's here."

The guy had super hearing or something, he could only hear what was going on inside the house. No matter, he followed along to the backyard, maybe Gabriel went to buy stuff and needed help with bags. He should be able to do that, right? Maybe if he did not look or think about the car, he could, or if the bags were placed where he could grab them and not see the car. It was stupid to let this fucking car dictate what he did and how he did it, how he had to work around a thing that was not even alive, yet he had not faced that and doubt he would be able to if it was just shoved in his face instead of him directly choosing when to see it and confront it.

That was one of the reasons he was surprised to see the car that Gabriel had stepped out of was definitely not the one he left in.

This one was black, same as the other, but it was an entirely different one and despite his aversion of cars, of never having worked on one in four years and doing all he could to avoid them, the name popped up immediately upon looking at it.

Chevrolet Volt.

The first thought was the obvious, "Holy fuck, an unknown car, get Cas away, get away right now."

The second was fuck, this was an expensive car, hybrids usually were, especially if they were anything but the basic models and knowing how Gabriel was, this car probably was loaded.

Castiel looked like he was expecting this and shook his head as he approached his brother, examining the car's exterior and then opening the door to peek inside before straightening up, bringing a can of some kind of energy drink and a wrapper with him.

"You could have at least waited a week before you started leaving stuff around for me to clean."

"They took too long, I was hungry."

Dean was standing there, like a fucking moron, trying to put two and two together, wondering where the hell their car went. The professors seemed to realise that and Gabriel announced he was going to get dinner together, leaving the two alone, with him squinting at the other immediately, wanting to know what was going on.

"This car is much more efficient than the Impala, we decided it was time for a change."

That was the thinnest damn cover up he ever heard and he snorted, brows furrowing and shaking his head. No, that was not it, he knew that was not it. Castiel hated change, could not stand it, he had his routine and all he was familiar with, he could barely stand being placed in a different classroom to teach, a new car was not something he would easily accept, not when he had the Impala for as long as he did. And he was never the type to keep things from him, he never lied, he would answer him honestly, and the other kept to that, eyeing the Volt.

"I know what it's like to have unpleasant reminders of the past, I'd like to spare you that. That was primarily the reason I talked to Gabriel about selling the Impala, all the features didn't hurt when we were deciding what car to buy. It's… unsettling, to a degree, though we talked about it since it was available for order."

Although he had no idea when the hell it was available for order, he was aware how the song and dance went when it came to new cars came out. There was this big show about it and since this was the 2016 Volt, ordering was maybe somewhere in July or August.

Jesus Christ, Castiel had decided on this that long ago?

Then Dean thought about it some more, about that time in the year. They started going on dates around that time, there was no way he could forget that.

That was also the first time he saw the car.

The first time he saw the car and he panicked, Dean never once saw the car after that. Not even when it was parked anywhere, not when he walked with Castiel at school or at the park, it might as well have been like he teleported there, even the keys never showed up again. One look at the professor and he did not have to ask, needed no verbal answer for confirmation of what he concluded.

The decision had already been made since that day, he had made it because he wanted to help, make it easier for him.

Fuck, it was times like these he did not understand what Castiel possibly saw in him and why he stayed with him.

Biting down on his lip, he glanced at the car, struggling with a choice he felt he needed to make right now, to convey whatever the hell this was inside him before it burst out of his chest and made a big ass mess out of everything. So, he grunted and walked forward, pausing right beside the still open door and hands curling into fists.

This was okay.

The car was not moving.

He was okay.

Castiel was okay.

Everything was okay.

Taking a deep breath, he carefully manoeuvred to get his upper body inside the car, to actually be able to examine the interior, scrunching his nose at the new car smell. How different it looked from the cars he used to work on over four years ago was not baffling, it was expected that he missed a lot of the technological advances, though he was savvy enough to know the general idea of what was what and how it was meant to work. Making notes of everything he needed to inside, he reached over to pull the hood release lever, straightening back up.

Next was popping open the hood and securing it so he could take a look, not as impressed as he might have been in the past. It was still really good, objectively, which was better than it being a shitty old thing that would crap out in a week and leave him in danger. Satisfied, he shut the hood and circled the car, taking note of the wheels, the cameras, even lifted the windshield wipers to make sure they functioned.

It was not the best checkup he ever gave a car, that would require getting into the driver's seat and taking it for a spin or at least listening to it and he could not, this was the best one he could give without that. The other had remained where he was, remaining silent until he approached him.

Dean sniffed.

Castiel smiled.

It was a start, he supposed.

\---

"Are you sure you can do this?"

"Yes, Gabriel. Four classes isn't too much."

"That's the same thing you thought last quarter."

Castiel understood his brother's concerns and his need to reassure himself he was not suddenly going to find him unconscious once again, this did not make the repeated question if he was sure any less exasperating after the sixth time he was asked.

"I will be fine. If it is too much, I will tell someone."

Maybe not.

Likely not.

Not that he did not learn his lesson and limits he had, he certainly did. Four classes compared to six, however, meant that he was dropping the total number of students he had to around a hundred fifty, depending how many dropped or added. That was much easier to manage and he had time to prepare, everything would work out.

Gabriel frowned, knowing just as well as his brother that he would not say shit if something was stressing him out and hoping he might be able to see if anything did. His younger brother was doing a lot better now, he had recovered from his hospital stay extremely well and overall, he seemed… happier, he thought was a good word for it.

He was naturally a pretty positive guy, which was a fucking amazing thing to him, honestly, because a lot of people who went through similar things like him turned out to be bitter and pessimistic about everything. So, seeing him smile or knowing he saw the glass half full was nothing new. This was something else, maybe something sappy sounding, his eyes were a little brighter and other things maybe not as sappy sounding that others might not see.

One was that he could stand a little closer, almost a step closer and he would not look uncomfortable. That was a freaking miracle, he never thought he would see that progress so soon, it broke the pace he was going at originally.

In a good way, of course.

The reason for this change would, in someone else's eyes, most likely be because his brother was in a relationship now, power of love, what an unstoppable force, all that icky, gooey stuff. And, whilst some of it might have come from this relationship he was in–with his student, even, what a rebellious little brother, he joked, tearing up the unspoken laws of being a professor at a community college–Gabriel would not give all or even the majority of the credit to it. Maybe as one of the starting pushes, the match that lit the fuse for it, yeah, he could say that. But Castiel was the one who made the choice to light it, no one else could do that, not force it, nothing, that was all him.

Gabriel was damn proud of him for doing that.

That was why he took him at his word and they started the first day of the winter quarter.

\---

Dean really hated classes sometimes.

Not for the workload or anything, he dealt with a hell of a lot at KU when he was working on his degree and psychology was actually less stressful in a lot of ways and more work in other areas that he never really had to use back then. No, the thing he hated about classes from time to time were the breaks or time right before class started, sometimes even the discussions.

Because he would hear about how this person applied to UCLA or UC Berkeley, Cal State Dominguez Hills, some to out of state places or the best of the best, like Stanford or Yale or some crazy shit like that and that bugged him. It bugged him because all these people had already applied to schools–some even were going for their second BA–and were awaiting their responses and he was just there, taking classes for a reason he kind of felt was no longer quite as relevant as it was when he started, not having applied to any school, with nothing to show for all his hard work at KU and probably an associate's degree here if he bothered petitioning for graduation.

This foul mood stayed with him for far too long, continued throughout January even when it came to be his birthday.

Fucking hooray, twenty-seven and no goddamn accomplishments to show for it, just a fucked up body and an equally fucked up brain.

Dean realised he was being snappy and a douche, sometimes noticing it a few minutes, hours or days later, that he could have worded something a bit nicer or not made the noise he did or look the way he did. The biggest dick move he made so far, he thought, was outright walk away from Castiel without so much as a glance. He had come out of Gabriel's sociology class–might as well see his teaching methods, he reasoned, and he had taken all the classes Castiel taught–and they were talking about education and shit, that had added to his bad mood, Castiel had been coming out of the offices. Now, they never addressed it, they went on as though nothing happened, but he knew the professor knew it was plain and simple avoiding.

He tried to excuse it as he needed time alone or else he would do something he would regret, though passing right by him without so much as a glance or wave was kind of pushing that to nothing more than trying to justify being a jerk for the sake of being one.

Something about turning twenty-seven made it all worse.

Castiel never compared them, never told Dean why he was not doing more, he ought to do more since he was practically the same age as him. Yet, Dean found himself doing so more and more.

Castiel had an MS in psychology–graduated absolute top of his class at twenty–and a MFT license.

He had a high school diploma with a 3.89 GPA he could never bump up higher than that at eighteen.

Castiel had a house, a big, good house.

He rented an apartment, a kind of small, crappy one.

Castiel had not one, but two stable jobs that paid above minimum wage.

He had jobs through agencies that were spotty and rarely paid above minimum wage, maybe a quarter more per hour.

Castiel was successful and he was a piece of fucking shit and they were only about six months apart in age.

What the fuck did that say about him?

It said he was fucking useless and only taking up space was what it was saying.

"Dean?"

Eyes lifting up from the poor muffin he had ended up demolishing with his fork, he saw Castiel staring at him, eyebrows knit together in concern. Concern he did not deserve, not in the least. And of fucking course, the professor did not push him to talk about it, he merely held his hand out and smiled lightly when he reached out, keeping his hand as close as he could.

This continued for awhile, thinking about how inferior he was, how he was wasting everyone's time, he should just leave.

Eventually, it was going to erupt, all of this.

He just kind of wished it had not the way it did.

An average weekend was hanging out at the Novak household, in the backyard. Jess was there, this time, Sam thought that it was a good idea for her to meet the Novak's. Castiel was his boyfriend, his brother explained, and they should all meet, get to know each other. Dean personally did not care about who met who, as long as they did not bother him, not in a good enough place to bother with socialising and had grunted at the idea, walking off. He never saw it, but he knew Sammy's expression fell at his disinterest and that Castiel smiled at him to reassure him it was all okay and said, "I would love to finally meet Jessica, as would Gabriel."

Here they were, then, Dean was slumped on one of the patio chairs, not paying too much attention to what was going on, right hand dangling over the armrest along with Castiel's left, not brushing against each other though close enough. Habit, really, they could not hold hands, he was fine with that, the professor was not there yet and this was what they did instead. It made it easier to get his attention sometimes, too, just tap against the other's chair instead of having to talk.

All this shit made him clamp up with the whole talking deal, brooding and not feeling up for saying much of anything, even if he normally did only with the professor. For the time being, he just listened to the conversation going on.

"… going to be a nurse, eh? A nurse and a lawyer, hell of a team you're going to make."

"When we get our degrees, I think we'll believe that more."

Degrees.

Of course, Sam and Jess were going to graduate, receive their Bachelor's degree, move onto law and nursing school, whatever it was, that was what he wanted all along, right? Make them believe he was fine, they could go on and he would be fine, just leave him behind, not like he was worth anything, never meant to be worth a thing, that was how it was and always would be.

That was New Dean.

"June eleventh, correct? Sam has talked to me so much about it, Gabriel and I would love to be there for the two of you."

Of course, it was obvious Castiel would. Gabriel and he probably liked seeing people succeed, graduating and doing well for themselves, not like him, not at all. He was just there, taking up space, always taking up space and doing nothing, that was who he was now.

"Yeah, that'd be great! My family's going to be there, too, but I think they're will be a better time for introductions later."

"Of course."

They continued talking about this stuff and Dean could not take it, the rise in his chest, the way it was getting harder to breathe, it was too hot, he had to get out of there, leave. Rising from his spot and staggering at the rush, he rushed away in lieu of letting it settle, knocking into the doorjamb on his way and not giving a shit, he had to go. He knew Castiel had gotten up almost immediately after, caught a glimpse of his concerned expression and knew he was too slow to escape, the professor's legs might as well have been miles long with how much ground he was able to cover compared to him and fuck, he heard him right behind him when he got to the hall.

No reason to pretend he could get away now.

"Dean."

Slowing to a stop and biting down on his lip, he did not want to face him yet and well aware he had to do it anyway.

"What."

First word he said in about three weeks and he sounded like an ass, fantastic.

"I understand you're frustrated and I know why you are. But, comparing us, measuring your worth in such a way, I know you're aware that's not how it works."

He was.

Somewhere inside, he knew he was being unreasonable and comparing himself to the professor was only making him worse, taking twenty steps back in his progress from the past year. It was that nagging in his head, though, fucking John, with all his little snide comments and huge expectations of him, all of his bullshit, all of that which went away when he died and what the hell was Dean supposed to do now, who the hell was he, clearly not the obedient little boy John wanted, he was nothing. That was not how it worked, he learnt that, Castiel had taught him that in all their time together, he should follow that, know that he was someone, he did stuff, he was cared for and shit.

Instead, he let out a bitter bark of laughter, deflecting the same way he always did when things hit too close to home.

"Gee, Cas, thanks. I'm all better now, I would've never thought of that."

Castiel looked like he had just slapped him and Dean felt his stomach turn, he should not have said that or sounded so dickish, it simply came out, instinct and he had no idea what it was anymore, was that Old Dean, New Dean, some other fucking Dean he had no idea about? To his credit, the other recovered remarkably fast, no doubt because of all the shit he was told during sessions, merely thrown off momentarily that he had told him something like that.

If it helped, he felt like shit that it came out, he wished he could take it back.

"You know that's not what I meant it as and you're not going to scare me away by twisting my words or guilt me into dropping the subject."

Not that Dean intended to do that, though that might have been what he was trying, hardly effective when Castiel probably faced attempted manipulation from some of his clients and his job was to not fall for it and help them.

"Just leave me alone."

Just be better off without him.

"I have left you alone for near a month, I did not pry, I did nothing but be there if you needed me."

"Then keep doing that."

Just leave.

"I won't. I can't tell you I know everything, but I can tell you what your issue is. You're not angry because I have what you consider more worth with my degree, my jobs, none of that."

"Cas."

Leave.

Leave and do not say it.

Do _not_ fucking say it.

"You're angry because you've gotten used to this life of yours. You've found you like it, the lack of responsibilities. You don't have to interact with others, you don't have to go to school, you can walk away from anything you want without repercussions because people think you're not capable of anything and you hate that, hate the fact that you've grown so accustomed to it and fall back on it whenever it's convenient. So, you can say you're angry at me and others all you want, you're simply angry with yourself and you're not willing to admit it."

Every word was like a stab to his leg. Or his heart, whichever would hurt more at this point. Because the other looked so serious when he was saying this, rarely did he ever see him this, rarely did he ever see the need to be so with him or sound so firm, not unless he was having a panic attack and all Dean could think was exactly what he mentioned.

He wanted to run.

So, that was exactly what he did.

Spinning on his heel, he sped walked as quick as he could, down the hall and the foyer, almost at the door, heart feeling ten times too big and asphyxiating him, crushing his lungs.

"Dean!"

In some deep corner of his mind, he realised Castiel called out like that because he stumbled along the way, he would have fallen and hit his head on the doorknob if the man had not lunged forward and grabbed his arm to keep him steady. Even so, all that registered was he was keeping him there, he wanted to go, needed to go, needed that now, he felt trapped, trapped like with dad and his impossible expectations, like in the Impala, he had to _get out._

_"I said **leave me alone!"**_

It was a chain reaction and one lone thought ran through his head.

He fucking _hit_ Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that went from zero to sixty in 3.1 seconds. That's actually for the Tesla Model S, but that kind of makes the point. I think about cars a lot. Speaking of cars, isn't it nice, Castiel and Gabriel have a new car. I kind of already had the idea in my head that Castiel would have decided from that first time that the Impala would be replaced, for a number of reasons besides helping Dean out. And, I really, really like my Volt and seeing as there's a new one coming out, it seemed like the perfect chance. 
> 
> The physical therapy, honestly, I based it off something a friend's husband is doing after an unfortunate event. I don't claim this is the best thing or anything of the sort, I just know he's doing something similar for his leg. 
> 
> Also, what an ending, I know, that went south fast. But, I believe Dean was bound to face a setback eventually, people always seem to contemplate their success or lack thereof when it's their birthdays or such. Plenty of psychological things and issues he has yet to deal with, they all kind of just exploded out. Kind of laid out the groundwork for the rest of the story, too, or at least a good amount of the following chapters.


	16. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean fucked up bad, like always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, next chapter, how about that?
> 
> Just because this is at its sixteenth chapter and now appears to have my first multi-chapter story beat in terms of that, I wanted to make a quick note. I really want to thank everyone who has stuck with this story so far, it means so much to me, especially considering I thought this was going to be a big flop of a thing. When I wrote the first chapter, I essentially had nothing for the plot besides, "Dean doesn't speak, Castiel has OCD, they help each other and get together at some point." And, I think I would've ended up deleting this if it weren't for all the wonderful comments and overall positive response, would've lost the motivation to keep going. Also, a really special thank you to lizerd70, who is super lovely and has been here since my first fumble of a story. And the-angel-is-fallen, for her amazing input and help editing this chapter, she's the sweetest of honeybees! Lochinvar, you're wonderful! Bo, your comments make my day, always. And everybody else that I didn't name, your comments make me smile. 
> 
> Anyway, before this gets longer than it is, here's the chapter, sorry it took awhile, I got distracted playing Fire Emblem: Awakening, since I finally got a 3DS. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter, let's see. To be safe, I'll mention suicidal ideation, self-loathing, brief implication of past bullying and I believe that's it. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Fuck up.

That was all Dean was and all he would ever be, just a great, big fuck up.

His hand was still raised, eyes as wide as could be, as he looked at Castiel on the floor, one hand over his cheek and the other lifted up like he was prepared to defend himself from another blow, as if Dean was honestly capable of doing that. He never meant to, he meant to turn and yank his arm away, he was unused to Castiel being that close, he was expecting him to be at least a step back, he never meant to strike him as hard as he did or at all. But he had, he hit him, it was enough to knock him down, maybe partly from the shock and suddenness, and Castiel was not getting up, looking utterly pliant and doing nothing more than keeping his arm up, Dean could hear his shaky breaths, see his hand shaking and that made it worse.

What did he think Dean was going to do?

"Dean!"

Sam was coming over with Jess and Gabriel, still too far to see Castiel and he just turned fucking tail and ran, he went right out the door and ran, as fast as his legs could take him to as far as they could take him, lungs burning, eyes burning, everything burnt and he fucking deserved it.

He was such a fuck up.

\---

"Shit, Cas!"

Castiel was carefully lowering his arm once he heard the door slam, jaw tightly clenched, eyes screwed shut, trying to place the voice and himself in the proper space and time. This was his house in Palo Alto, the one talking was Sam, this was all okay, he was okay, he could just clean up and it would be okay, he was fine, perfectly fine.

_Why do you always embarrass me?_

_This is why I can never take you out!_

Perfectly fine, like he would always be.

Listening to the steps, he could separate them all and tell that his brother was the closest, too close, his brother, family, a brother that was never there when he needed him, that abandoned him with her, left him like he was unimportant, left him with Mother, had to be perfectly fine but no, no, no–

_You're a disgrace, Castiel!_

_"Get away from me!"_

Gabriel recoiled at the shout, not expecting it and more concerned about how his voice cracked, the panicked note it held than upset over it being directed at him, his younger brother scooting along the floor until he could grab onto the newel post to pull himself up. He put up his hand to keep Sam from trying to help, it would only make it worse. Castiel was already refusing to look at them and struggling to stand, the word "No," muttered over and over and he realised that he was not saying it necessarily because he wanted to tell him something, that something was wrong he could fix, it was that once started, he could not stop saying it.

And there was nothing he could do.

All he could do was watch as his baby brother kept a hand to his face, muttering in time with each step he went up and hearing the door shut, water running after some time, left standing there with the couple.

This was a fucking mess.

"Is he going to be okay?"

Jess was at least trying and he had to think of an answer besides the blunt, "Does it seem like he's okay?" Because he was not an ass, not when people meant well and she deserved a proper response, she was a good girl and they had all hit it off pretty well. How was he supposed to tell her, though, why he reacted the way he did, without giving away details he would rather not have to think about more or spill personal shit?

Sam had beaten him to it and shit, if he was not with Kali and Jess was not his girlfriend, he would kiss him.

Maybe he still would later as a shits and giggles thing and they would all have a good laugh.

"He has OCD."

It was three simple words and Gabriel would never get over how much that encompassed of Castiel, how that was somehow a blanket term for everything he had gone through, what his issues were that he had never dealt with, his habits, all of it.

Maybe he would never get over it because it had consumed so much of his baby brother and he often blamed himself for not being there. If he was, maybe he could have protected Castiel from their mother, helped him out as he was growing up, helped him understand what it was he had, let him actually be a kid and not have to grow up so fast and pretend everything was okay. Hell, he could have at least gone back when she died, yet he did not, he was an ass and left Castiel to deal with the arrangements, with everything, and were it not for that incident before his graduation, he might have remained fucking ignorant as shit and the inconsiderate douche he was.

Castiel smiled and said it was understandable, Gabriel was eighteen when he left, of course he wanted to get out and enjoy freedom, have fun. But he was also not stupid, he may have been twenty-five and scared shitless when he found him on the floor, one step from death, and still had too many fucking emotions raging inside him when his brother was lucid enough to say that, that did not mean he could not tell when he was lying or holding something back or when his smile was not as genuine as could be because his eyes were duller and he would always break eye contact immediately after to look at his thumb pressing into his palm.

So, to tell Jess he had OCD sounded so simple and was far more than she might possibly be able to understand, she did not have all the facts of their lives.

Kind of a good thing, actually.

The female's expression had turned to one of sympathy and he was expecting some negative bullshit, it was instinct now, after everything.

"Do you have a plan for when this happens?"

That was new.

"What?"

"Like what to do for him, time he needs, alternatives. He compulsively washes, right? To get rid of germs? He has his," she gestured to her hands, "gloves, I didn't think much of them or anything he did until Sam mentioned he has OCD."

Gabriel blinked, taken back and was that not the saddest shit there was, what did that say about people he met? Shaking it off, he nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, something like that."

Then, of course, Jess was studying to be a nurse, no doubt she knew a good deal more than others, along with being a good person, and he should really stop thinking the worst immediately of everyone. She took charge of this all and he was fine with it, he respected her and was not going to look down on her because he was older.

"We'll go look for Dean and you can stay here, make sure Castiel is doing better."

The two would go walking, it would cover less ground and be slower, but it was rationalised Dean could not move about very well for very long, he should still be in the area.

Plan agreed on, they split.

\---

Get off, get off, get off.

_Do you want to get sick and die?_

Stop, no, he was not, not going to get sick and die, wash it off, he could wash it all off and he would be fine, wash, _again and again and again,_ get it all off.

Not enough, had to get it all off.

Eyes frantically searching, his hands fumbled when grabbing his razor, trying to breathe, hand feeling his jaw, the bit of stubble he had, it would all go away when it went away, all of it, it would not stay stuck there and mutate and become a disgusting, filthy, infected _thing_ that would lead to–

The buzz of the razor got him to wheeze out the breath he was holding, an odd sounding snort coming from the force of his exhale and how he was trying to expel it as quickly as possible, his body not knowing whether to do it through his mouth or nose, and he had to stop thinking about that, focus on the razor, how it was getting rid of it.

If it hurt, he rationalised in whatever sad sort of rationale he had at the moment, it meant it was going away, the more it hurt, the more clean it all was, the better he would be, the right side really burnt, the left was not, he had to fix that, he had to keep going, had to do it and keep going.

_Your hands are filthy._

_Your hands are filthy._

_Your hands are filthy._

_Yourhandsarefilthyyourhandsarefilthyyourhandsarefilthy._

Castiel flipped the razor in his hands and was about to bring it down on his hand, it could clean his hand, too, like it did his face, when a towel snapped hard against his hand and startled him into dropping it, the buzzing intensifying against the porcelain of the sink. Before he could grab it and finish, the towel smacked near him again and the razor was snatched by Gabriel, turned off.

"What the hell, Castiel!"

"Gabriel, please, I need to-"

"No, you don't need to. You don't need to take a _razor_ to your hand. I know you think you do, but you don't."

No.

No, no, no.

 _Yourhandsarefilthyyourhandsarefilthyyourhandsarefilthy_.

"You don't understand, I _need_ to, Gabriel."

His chest was being crushed, he had to do it, had to do it now, he could not breathe, he tried to get closer and immediately halted steps away, like there was an invisible wall he slammed into, struggling, fingers twitching, itching to get the razor, eyes wide, breath puffing out, he had to get it, but could not get around this wall, could not touch, never touch, not now, no.

 _ **Yourhandsarefilthyyourhandsarefilthyyourhandsarefilthy**_.

_Do you want to get sick and **die?**_

No, no, he did not, no, please, God, get away from him, just stop it and leave him be.

"I don't understand, no. I'm probably never going to understand what that feels like. I'm never going to understand how the hell you function when you have to count every step you take or can't eat something if it was left even a second too long to cook or have to take one pill at seven forty in the morning and the other at ten forty and twice more exactly every three and a half hours after because you'll freak out if you don't or how you deal with the thoughts in your head telling you to hurt people or yourself out of the fucking blue, I don't understand shit of that. I understand you're my baby brother and I'm going to stop you from hurting all I can, okay? If that means I take away a razor or have a spare pair of gloves in case you need them or pack your goddamn lunch when you're too down to do it yourself but can't stand being thrown off your schedule, then I'll do it."

Castiel stared at his brother, trying to gulp in air and focus on his words, on what he was saying and recognising this was all okay, he did not need that razor or do what he was attempting to do.

 _ **Yourhandsarefilthyyourhandsarefilthyyourhandsarefilthy**_.

His hands were fine.

His face was fine.

 _Yourhandsarefilthyyourhandsarefilthyyourhandsarefilthy_.

No.

No, they were not.

_Your hands are filthy._

No, no, they were not. He washed them, he washed his face, he did it more than once, this was not him, if he separated himself from these compulsive behaviours, if he took the time to see them for what they were and realise they were not necessary, he could control it, he could see them for what they were. He could see that his jaw burnt because he had already used it, almost to the point of taking skin, he washed his face and his hands plenty of times, more than enough, he had thrown his gloves in the trash, even taken off the button up he was wearing, left in his t-shirt that was damp at the collar now.

This was the bathroom in his house in Palo Alto, Gabriel was here, Gabriel was the one who made his sandwiches and tea when he could not, he could smell the soap and plug in from Bath and Body, the water was draining still, he could hear it, he was okay.

He was fine.

Perfectly fine.

Had to be.

"Breathe, baby bro. Just breathe, alright? Like we always do. I'm not going anywhere this time, I'm not leaving you."

This time.

He blamed himself.

Castiel had to put all his efforts on breathing, reassuring himself it was all okay, maintaining eye contact all the while. He could not let him blame himself, not his brother, not Dean, no one, it was not healthy, no, he had to breathe and be better, for everyone.

He was fine.

Perfectly fine.

Had to be.

"Good. That's great. Okay, just… just do what you do after you shave, get something for your hands, I'll get you your gloves and stuff. Third coat hanger on the left, right? And bottom drawer, top right hand corner?"

"… Yes."

Castiel waited until he left to slouched over, hands over his face and trying not to think of how his brother took the razor with him.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve…

Follow the routine, same as always, there was a routine for shaving, for when he had to take care of his hands, he followed it exactly as always, breathed, everything and hesitated when reaching for his t-shirt, eyes glancing over at the open door.

_C'mon, Novak, take it off!_

_Get away from me!_

Castiel dropped his hands.

"Cas?"

The other was back with his clothes, held with a towel that he took with a quiet thanks, waiting until the door was close, locked and he checked it repeatedly, only removing his shirt once he was absolutely certain.

Routine.

Follow the routine.

Follow the routine, as long as it took, and he would be perfectly fine.

The routine was followed, he came out of his bathroom, Gabriel was still there.

"You good?"

"Yes."

Not really, but that was unimportant at the moment.

"Where's Dean?"

Dean was struggling, he should help him, he had to help him, not because it was his job or obligation, he wanted to and he should go now.

"He bolted."

"I'm going."

The Volt, that would be fastest, he could get to the most likely place he would be at faster that way, he had wasted time, could not stop being so ridiculous, he had to push that down for now, get going.

"Whoa, wait, you look like you're going to keel over and you want to drive around? Jess and Sam are already looking."

"No, I need to go."

"I swear, if this is one of your little–"

"It's not, Gabriel. I pushed him when I shouldn't have, not like that."

"He hit you!"

"He did. And I hit him first. Maybe not the same way, but I did."

He slipped up, he could have done it differently, he let his emotions and personal feelings get the best of him. But he knew Dean, it was not on purpose, he could only begin to imagine how he felt now, must be blaming himself. It had thrown him off was all, emotional outbursts were unpredictable and their proximity had only made it worse. He knew Dean's hand hit him when he turned around and his shoulder had knocked into him, too, and there was a line between what was intentional and an accident, he dealt with it far too much in the past and had patients who had as well.

The professor liked to believe he was a good judge on such when it came down to it and it was an accident, he concluded.

His words, however, maybe they were not as accidental.

This was the whole reason he told Dean he would be a terrible therapist for him, he could not always remain professional with him, could not keep his mouth shut and just listen to him like he should with his clients, remain objective, he let his emotions dictate what he did and said, now look where they were because of that. The one thing he had to admit was that Gabriel was partly correct, he was exhausted from what just happened, perhaps that was the reason his brother got into the car with him, refusing to leave him like this.

The gesture was appreciated.

Although, not entirely necessary, he was only going one place, there was one place he knew that Dean would always go to, without fail. Sam and Jess were thinking about it wrong, thinking he would stay on foot the whole time and limiting their search, he always had his bus pass in his back pocket, never in his wallet or bag, he was always paranoid that he would forget it otherwise and he would be stuck outside longer than he wanted.

"Cas, you sure?"

"I am."

"Alright… anything happens, you call."

Gabriel was making it sound like he was going into some haunted house or dangerous situation, not to talk. Regardless, he got out of the car and entered the building, clenching his keys to keep them from jingling. Same path he always walked, not the reason he would like to be doing so, though it had to be done.

Hopefully, he did it right.

\---

Dean knew it was only a matter of time before he fucked up monumentally, it only took a goddamn year.

Pushing his face into the pillow he was clenching, he considered how long it would take, just keeping his face right here, it would stop. Reasonably, that was hardly a good way, the body struggled too much and he should stop this train of thought before it became way too elaborate, he told Sam he would not go down that road again, not anywhere close to it.

It was a little harder than he would have liked to admit to remove the pillow.

Not long after he did, there was a soft, muted knock at his door and only one person knocked on his door like that, Sam did it a lot louder, more so without gloves interfering and he was just a bitch and did it to get on his nerves. Now, Dean could just not answer, not say a thing and hope he would go away. Castiel would, too, he was just that kind of person who never pushed someone unless it was the only option left. But then again, he kind of accidentally hit the guy, he should let him in and stop running and deal with this shit. Maybe he finally saw Dean was a bad dude and was breaking up with him, tell him to stay away because all he did was hurt people, stuff like that which he deserved.

"Come in."

Castiel did, coming in quiet as a freaking ghost and shutting the door behind him. He often wondered how he did that, he moved around so silently, all his actions quiet, even in places where the floorboards creaked, not a sound. Like a cat, maybe. He was digressing, as always, but without being able to physically get out, he had to do something. He had to before his heart burst out of his chest or his brain spontaneously combusted or he puked his guts out.

"You shouldn't be here."

Talking, okay, that worked, too.

The professor blinked once at that before his eyes narrowed, stepping forward until he reached his swivel chair to sit. That would usually cause a little burst of pride, that the other could sit on his chair without a second thought now, he did not have to clean it or check it over, just sit his ass down. Fucking guilt swallowed that up right quick and he briefly lamented not taking the pillow way out.

This was really not a conversation he wanted to have.

"If I shouldn't, you wouldn't have let me in. I would have left, you would be alone to further degrade yourself in your thoughts. That's what you're doing now, isn't it? Thinking how could you do that, why did you, you must be the worst person ever, things along those lines?"

Dean looked away.

"Dean, I've talked with many people and I've experienced quite a lot, being able to tell whether something is meant or not, whether it's something said or done in the heat of the moment, being too emotional, or intentional, this is part of what I do. If what you did was intentional, this would be a completely different conversation and I don't think you'd be having it with me."

"I hit you, Cas."

Saying it aloud made his mouth taste foul, something he deserved, really.

"I'm very much aware that. Your hand hit my jaw, you knocked me down when you turned around. But, I don't believe you meant to and I don't think you do, either. I grabbed you, I don't ever touch you, or anyone, I'm never that close to anyone. It was a reaction you had, you were panicking, you wanted to leave and you thought I wasn't letting you. So, you pulled away and I was too close."

The professor was explaining it like it was so, so simple, like it was nothing, just an accident. And maybe it was, maybe he was just overthinking it, but since he was, it made no sense to him why he was taking it so well. He should be mad, be upset, he fucking hit him, he hit him and yelled and ran. If he had done that when John was still there, if he had done that to him… well, fuck, he would really want the pillow rather than that.

Why was Castiel being so understanding?

Why was he not yelling, telling him he was bad, he was useless, he only hurt people close to him?

That was all he was worth and _damn it,_ Castiel had to know that!

"I hit you. Don't you get it? I hit you and I might do it again. Hell, I will because I fuck up, Cas. I fuck up because I'm a fuck up. I fucked up with my dad, with Sam, with myself. I'm not good, so why don't you see it? You should see that!"

Dean knew he was rambling at this point, saying bad shit about himself for really anything that came to mind, from what he had done to Castiel and how fucking vile it was, he was fucking vile, to just the fact that he sucked ass at organising and it must be fucking sickening from the other to be in his room. And he was saying, "I'm poison, Cas, I can't–" when Castiel interrupted with something he was not expecting in a million years.

"If I stab you in the throat, you'll have to listen to me."

Dean promptly shut his mouth, looking utterly baffled because wow, that was violent as hell and not at all fitting for the professor's personality. But, he looked so determined for something by saying that and he tried to figure out what was behind this solemn not promise, knowing he was not suddenly going to stab a pencil in his throat or anything. Castiel blinked again and looked down at his hands, clenching them into fists, took a deep breath and addressed him again.

"Thoughts like these come more often than I'm okay with, I can't really think about anything else comfortably and that's terrifying. I once had a horrifying scenario in my head, how to get back at Zachariah, in alarming detail, when you came in during the committee meeting and he was disrespectful towards you. Another time, I had one about Hael, if I hurt her, she would go away because I couldn't handle her advances. I've had thoughts about throwing myself into traffic or off the building, for no real reason. They scare me senseless and I wonder if I'm actually a horrible person, underneath everything. Like a bomb, just waiting to go off. Do you think I am? A horrible person."

Dean furrowed his brow because what the hell kind of question was that? Who would ever think this guy was bad? Of course no one in their right mind would, that was stupid.

"No. Those aren't your thoughts. You've told me, you have to separate yourself from your OCD, that's not you. It's a horrible thing to deal with, but it doesn't make you that."

The other was smiling lightly and he stopped, wondering why the fuck–

… Oh.

He must have seen when it clicked because he had brought the chair closer, not doing anything more than that, probably to be considerate.

"And you were on the brink of having an attack, I forced you to face something you haven't worked up to yet. That's a horrible thing to deal with, but the actions you take then do not define you. You're still Dean Winchester to me and I may not remember as much as I'd like about the hospital, but I meant what I told you, that wasn't delirium. And as unfortunate as it was, something like an accident isn't going to scare me away."

Geez, what a freaking time to mention that.

How was he supposed to answer without addressing that and seeming like an ass?

Because, really, he figured Castiel was just spouting out random stuff, the guy could not even stand on his own, how the hell would he know what he was saying? And so he never mentioned it because… he never cared to put too much thought into it for the sake of not inducing a headache, though he guessed it was because he liked the illusion of it being true, he did not want it to shatter if he mentioned it and Castiel said he did not remember that. What if it made it awkward between them? That would suck ass. More than that, even.

He vividly recalled supporting the then drugged up professor that had nearly fallen over trying to put on his jacket, guilty of the fact that he enjoyed holding him this close for a moment or two. It had helped him solidify the fact that he was there, alive, he had not left him. And it was the first time he really felt the other, felt his body heat, his breath, the very solid muscles of his arms, his hipbones, more than he ever had before when they stood near each other or laid together or held hands like they did and more than he likely would for a long time, maybe he never would again after, that was fine, too. So lost in his thoughts about how this was the first time, he almost missed how Castiel's breath had briefly stopped puffing against his neck as he took a deep breath, though before he could do anything about it, the other had shifted slightly and mumbled something out.

"You are like nobody since I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How it ends, so sweet. I'm a total lame for Pablo Neruda. 
> 
> I was thinking of adding more, but that seemed like an alright ending point and the rest of the conversation can be for the next chapter or else this would have been terribly long. 
> 
> I also finally got to put what happen in the hospital, I was excited about that. I wrote that chapter with the intention of bringing it up again later on and why not now, seemed like the right moment. 
> 
> This whole chapter was something I was iffy about for a lot of reasons. Castiel's reaction and thought process after, for one, it's not super easy for me to put myself in that position and feel like I write it clearly without being too close to it and then it doesn't do wonders for my health. Quite the opposite. Dean's, also, because it was just really depressing, that amount of negativity and how is that accurately portrayed without seeming like too much? It's an odd line. 
> 
> Though, this conversation of theirs isn't over yet and it won't be let go of so easily. Maybe that's a good thing, but I can't say much.


	17. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel both have a past to face, a decision to make, and a candle to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been just a bit over a month, I believe, sorry about how long it's taken. A lot of stuff happened the past month and now I've started a new job and school again and it's just really busy. I'm going to try and update a bit faster, maybe everything will settle down soon. Or, I really hope it does;;
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stayed with this story, even in the sudden lack of quick updates. I'm unsure about this chapter, I feel like sometimes it gets really vague or odd, which might be because how busy it all was or such, but I don't think I can write it any better, maybe it's just me overthinking, who knows.
> 
> Anyway, warning for this chapter. Mentions of suicide and suicide attempts, brief mention of underage drinking, violent thoughts, just to be safe, and that's all I can think of right now. If there's anything you feel I ought to add, feel free to comment. Also, if there's any typos or anything I didn't catch, it's about four in the morning, so I was bound to miss a few;; 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

For as long as he could remember, Dean really sucked when professing his love and the same went with when people did so to him.

It was just… _feelings._

Man, he was not equipped to deal with that, not at all, he never was. When Castiel had gone and said it in the hospital, he imagined it was the whole idea of the fact that he was still there with him that blunted his reaction, the relief of it all and he got that the professor said it, he processed it and it had made its impact. But whatever panic or disbelief that he could feel that for him was not as intense as relief, so he had managed to continue on without any awkwardness–not that the professor would have realised, most likely.

He had stayed with him until Sam and him had to go to the bus stop to get to the Novak's house, but before he had temporarily parted ways with the other, he had bent over so he could talk only for him and…

Well.

Point was, they were here now and Castiel had just confirmed that he had at least been lucid enough to know what he said and meant it. A few too many times had he been on the receiving end or been the one who confessed shit when drunk, way back when, back when he was the biggest shame John ever did have, and although it was the best idea at the moment, he probably would not remember shit of those things had there not been some documentation of it ranging, but not limited to, some near unintelligible scribbles on a napkin to a video.

Not his best moments, if he were honest.

So, he learnt not to take everything to heart, no matter if he wanted to or not. Anyway, what was he supposed to do now that he knew? Dean was okay with teetering on this rope of it just being drug-induced and being honest, he was more than fine with that, truthfully, it was easier than falling towards either side. This felt like it was taking too long, deciding what to say, what to do and Castiel, with his seemingly unlimited patience, did not tell him to hurry up and say something.

He was just Castiel.

And that was the thing, Dean thought, he was Castiel. To some people, that would hardly make sense. Of course he was, that was his name. Yet, it was more than that, it felt like more. People like him were rare, in his experience, people were not this nice and caring and giving without expecting anything in return, they just were not. Here he was, though, not expecting anything in return and that somehow made this harder to spit out, all the words clogging his airway and he was mortified that the one time he did want to say something, nothing was coming out.

To his relief, the professor did not ask if he was okay or needed anything, all he did was blink and stand from his spot, eyes flicking down to a textbook sitting precariously atop an unstable stack of papers. Fingers trailing the title of the book–the very same he lent him near a year ago, he meant to return it, honest–Dean noticed a quirk of his lips before he took it off the stack of papers in order to grab them and fix them up.

"The thing I find interesting about messes is that, no matter what, you can always tidy them. Sometimes, it takes a bit longer, each mess requires a certain amount of time, but everything becomes what it once was, in the end. They're a bit… inspiring that way. I think I'm a mess, which confuses a lot of people. I dress nice, I keep my house and office clean, everything is so precise, on schedule, perfectly done, perfectly… fine… but that's rather superficial when everything else of me is a mess."

The man moved on from the papers and started picking up pens and pencils, one by one, plunking them into their respective sections of the desk organiser that he never seemed to use, talking all the while.

"Then again, I don't think I ever had you fooled for long, did I? You kept quiet on a lot for my sake, I know, and I'm thankful for that. I can't imagine how I'd react if all that was said by another, I can barely handle thinking about it myself. In any case… thank you seems like it's not the best response, for not keeping quiet on something important to me."

Dean blinked, watching the other putting the office supplies where they belonged and then when he grabbed the book to hold out to him, smiling.

"Since I wasn't as lucid as I should've been back then, it seems appropriate to tell you now, to dispel your worries."

How Castiel did this, he seriously doubt he was ever going to figure it out.

Squinty stare power, that was it, he would have to leave it at that, he supposed.

"I love you, too. Now, the bookcase?"

This was too lucky.

This had to be a fucking dream, there was no way he was lucky enough to have met this guy, this fucking guy who knew what he could not say for whatever stupid reason there was. Why he could say it back then, that day, he figured maybe because he thought the man would not remember or some stupid thing like that, but now it was this terribly daunting thing.

And Castiel understood, same as he did when he refused to speak.

And Dean definitely did not understand.

Not that it stopped him from getting up and taking the book to the bookcase, along with two others after, or from dusting or vacuuming.

No, he would have time to figure it out, right?

And he would be damned if he did not solve this.

\---

Of all possible ways to solve this, at least a tiny bit of it, even Dean himself was a bit surprised when he barged into Castiel's office and slammed down a flyer, words flying out a mile a minute.

"I want to go here."

Here was the WPA convention and maybe he was being a little brash about it, did not consider everything, but hell, it was worth the look of surprise on the professor's face at his abrupt entrance and declaration, eyebrows raised slightly. Azures moved down to the flyer, clearly having seen it enough to know what it was at a mere glance and humming.

"Have you registered yet?"

"No."

"Have you booked a hotel to stay at?"

"No."

"You know the ride is about six to seven hours?"

"… No."

Thinking about it, how did this solve anything?

Well, he probably knew, somewhere in his head, just the idea of a ride being that long overrode everything briefly. Biting down on his lip, he thought about this ride and before it could blow up into something catastrophic in his head, he heard the clacking of keyboards. Castiel was typing and there was the website.

"If you truly want to go, I can show you where to go for everything. As for a hotel, if you don't mind sharing, it won't be a problem. Transportation would be your choice, but I wouldn't mind."

It was not that bad, right? He had until April to stop being such a wuss and just get in a damn car. Castiel was offering to take him, he would stop if he asked him to, he would do what he asked him to and the guy always followed the rules of driving, he drove safe, that was okay, right?

Right?

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Deep breath.

He could do this.

He was going to fucking do this and no one was going to stop him, not even his own stupid thoughts.

\---

Castiel watched as Dean exited his office, turning his attention after to a piece of paper he had written down how to get to the convention. Dean had a lot of rules on how and when to drive, which was alright with him, he did not mind if he could not drive on a freeway or had to drive only when there was little traffic and stop every hour or any of the other specifics he was given, so long as Dean felt comfortable enough to be in the car.

What was a little confusing at first was why he had wanted to go all of a sudden. He had never quite expressed a desire to go prior to this or to be in a car or any of what he was doing now. Naturally, he wanted to think more into it, pick it all apart and figure it out, to help him. But, he allowed him this privacy, recalling what happened last time he did not do such. Of course, last time he waited too long, it seemed, to say something. This time, he would speak up a little sooner and with a little less subjectivity to it if the other did not come to him about it.

Right now, he would continue stressing about this email.

He had received it not long after the information went up on the WPA website, about who was going to present and when and he knew it was only a matter of time, he truly did.

It never stopped him from wishing he could stare it away to oblivion.

_Castiel,_

_I saw your name on the WPA site, that some of your students are presenting. Congratulations! Some of mine are as well and I hope to see you there. Maybe we can catch up? Email me back if you want to make some plans or maybe we can just get together at the convention. I hope you have been well, please give my regards to Gabriel._

_Daphne Allen, M.S._  
_Professor, Psychology Department_  
_Mt. San Antonio College_  
_1100 N Grand Ave, Walnut, CA 91789_  
_Office: 26B-2551C_  
_Phone: 909-274-6307_

No matter how long he stared, this email did not go away.

Nor did his thoughts on Daphne Allen.

\---

"Cas!"

Castiel looked up from his laptop, not having been reviewing the notes very seriously anyway, seeing as it was nearing the time for the date and he would rather have a reasonable stopping point than a forced one that made no sense. Shutting the laptop and standing, he smiled lightly at the female coming up to him. The smile faltered when she intruded on his personal space and he flinched back, hands clenching and biting his tongue when he saw the hurt flash in her eyes.

"I… apologise, Daphne, I…"

He wished he could embrace her.

_Hey, Novak, aren't you going to kiss your girl?_

_What are you scared of, Novak? Just kiss her!_

_Do you want to get sick and **die?**_

He wished he could greet her properly.

He wished, more than anything, he did not have to see that terrible smile that spoke pity and pain as she answered, "It's okay, I understand," like she always did.

The grad student looked down at his gloved hands, twisting his fingers and feeling his face heat up unpleasantly, heart thumping, he was sure Daphne could hear it and see how hot he felt now because of this one blunder. He was so stupid, he should be able to do this, he worked all day on this, planned it out, mapped out this scenario in his head plenty of times, he should be able to let her get closer.

"Uhm… I… would you… you…"

_Speak clearly, Castiel, you're not a fool!_

"Would you… care for a drink?"

"Of course."

This was routine by now and in ten minutes, they were walking out of the café to his car, Daphne had some sort of iced coffee in her hand–it was not her usual, so he did not know it exactly–and he had his cold cup of iced tea, fiddling with the straw.

"Have you considered what we talked about?"

The fiddling stopped immediately and his eyes focused on the cracks on the pavement even more than normal as they walked, nearing the car, counting steps.

… thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty…

Daphne did not speak up again until they were at his apartment and Castiel felt disgustingly relieved.

"You're not packed."

So much for not talking about it.

"It's still not June, it wouldn't make sense to start now."

"Have you at least given notice?"

"I really don't believe that's necessary yet, graduation is in mid-June."

Please stop talking about this, he was not ready.

"But, I thought you were moving in before graduation?"

"That wasn't the plan."

"Not for Fred or Ashley, no, but you said it yourself, your brother isn't coming to your graduation. And I think that's-"

"Daphne."

Castiel surprised himself with how much bite there was in saying her name, feeling his fists clench as tightly as his chest did at the mention of Gabriel not coming. Not that he was surprised, he did not go back for his graduation ceremony at ISU and he was fine with not asking him this time, were it not for Daphne's insistence to at least try, since they were closer now. And they were closer to an extent, they talked now, since their mother's passing, but they each were busy and it was not always convenient to talk, much less meet up. So, when he read the beginning of the text saying, "Sorry, bro," he kind of stopped paying as much attention to the rest of it, not quite in a spot where he could bear to read what followed and be able to type that it was okay.

"I already went to pick you up and agreed to a date, I don't want to talk about that now."

That came out a little bit more polite than he expected, with the nagging thoughts in his head, but he knew it still sounded rude, like it was some sort of chore that he did this. At least, that was what he was told it sounded like, despite his trying to explain why it bothered him so much. The unexpected, a deviation from the routine he had, he could not function, there were certain things he could and could not do during certain hours and if Daphne had asked just to take her home, he would feel uncomfortable and anxious, but he would deal with it.

A date, though?

That was too much, without prior notice, nothing more than a phone call half an hour ago.

And he could see the hurt in her eyes at his cruel sounding words, he shut his eyes briefly and sighed.

"I… let's go, please? We can talk about this later."

When he was not two steps away from wanting to drive his car into a gasoline truck.

Truthfully, Castiel wanted this to work out well, he did. He drove them to a small diner Daphne said had good food and he ordered a salad, which was hard enough to do, there was no way he was going to eat that or the pie that came after Daphne deemed to notice he was going to do nothing but stare and poke at the salad with a look of misery and panic. By that point, the small talk was all Castiel had to keep his attention away from the knife he was twirling in his hand, underneath the table, counting every inhale and exhale, to make sure they were four seconds each, that meant he was still breathing okay, that was healthy.

"Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Please tell me what's wrong."

That was not really specific, so it made more difficult to come up with a response, though he knew whatever answer she wanted to hear was going to require him to talk about the things inside him and that was not favourable, he would rather keep paying attention to this knife that he was fiddling with, hearing and feeling it rub against the thin material of his gloves.

"I…"

He could not tell her about the thoughts in his head, the violent things he was afraid of, that he wondered daily if he would succumb to and just do it. No way he could tell her about what her friends said when she was not around, about how he would just look at Ashley and want to snap her thin little neck like a twig or kick Fred off the bleachers whenever he made him go to one of those games he could honestly not care less about, or make him drown in that disgusting ale he kept trying to get him to drink.

He would never tell anyone those thoughts.

"Castiel!"

He saw Daphne trying to reach across the table and reacted, moving away from her and unlike other times, she kept trying to get to him.

"Put that down!"

Put what down?

Too long did it take to notice she was talking about the knife, he had cut through the flimsy material of these nitrile gloves and broken through skin, he was bleeding and he felt sick, he was bleeding, there was blood, he was bleeding.

_Do you want to get sick and **die?**_

At one point, he went from the booth to the bathroom and he was vaguely aware there was water running and he still had the knife and he was staring at his right hand, that had the cut on his middle finger, he was grabbing something from his messenger bag with his left, his left that was not cut at the middle finger, that did not fit.

At another point, he recalled feeling the bite of the knife on the middle finger of his left hand and the warring feelings, the cold stab of anxiety at the blood rising and warm relief that it was fixed now and at some point in between all of this, he knew Daphne came in, around the time he heard the clatter of knife on the bathroom tile, and she was saying stuff, trying to get close.

_"Get away from me!"_

That was something he had gasped out, he knew, and he knew he should not think this, but in the moment, he could not help think that this was all her fault. If she had never asked him here, he would not have felt so pressured to be normal for her, he would have stuck with his normal gloves instead of these thin ones that felt disgusting and broke and he had no idea how they got to the point where Daphne was yelling at him, probably about how this was not normal, he was sick and needed help, who knew.

He hardly even understood what he was doing, what was going on, he just understood he could not breathe and he had to go now.

Daphne could tell him all she wanted that he needed help, what good would that do? Saying he was aware did nothing but make him feel worse because that was not something he was supposed to admit, not to anyone, not when it changed nothing except solidifying that it changed nothing, which was the worst feeling in the world.

It was maybe an hour, or felt like one, before he could step out of the bathroom, feeling eyes on him that he tried to ignore.

_**Don't** be stupid and make a scene, Castiel, you'll **embarrass** me!_

Be fine, be perfectly fine, just walk out and get in the car and drive Daphne back and act normal, be normal, be the normal boyfriend she deserved.

"Castiel…"

Castiel resisted succumbing to the thought of swerving into opposing traffic to avoid the conversation, if only barely.

"You're not getting better and I'm worried your therapist isn't helping you."

"… I am fine, Daphne."

Perfectly fine, had to be.

"I am fine. I am completely, utterly fine. I can… I can do this. That was a mistake, that was all, I apologise if I frightened you."

He had to be the boyfriend she deserved.

And he would make himself be so, all he had to do was take her hand when he walked her to her door.

"But I can do this. I can… I can put my part into this relationship, I can do the same as any other would do."

Just take her hand when he pulled over in thirty seconds.

The walk to her door was less than that, he could do that.

"Cas…"

"Please, Daphne. Let me… let me show you. That's all I ask."

"… Okay."

And if Castiel took his cold cup on iced tea on purpose, to occupy his hands, she never said a word. Neither did he, he only thought about how he should do this and do it now, the seconds were getting shorter, all the way down, down, down until they were at the door.

He could still grab her hand as a goodbye, that would still count, right?

"Good night, Daphne."

Do it now, that was all, just for a second.

"Good night."

Do it–

Daphne leaned in, maybe she was going to step over to unlock the door, maybe it was natural, or her shoes hurt her feet so she was shifting, maybe he was making all these things up so he would not have to think of the fact that he shoved his cold cup against her to push her away because he panicked that she was trying to kiss him.

Maybe he liked to think that rather than how he failed, how Daphne had actually stumbled and half fallen over from the force of his push and how he could do nothing but stare, wide eyed, unable to assist her, for that meant touching her.

"Oh God, Daphne… I-I am… I…"

Nothing stuttered out was good enough and he could tell nothing ever would be, the cold of the remaining iced tea could not compare to the ice in his veins, almost paralysing him, and he tried to open his mouth again, he was about to apologise properly.

Of course, the damage was done.

"No. I can't!"

The damage was done and it was irreversible.

"Daphne…"

He failed to be the boyfriend she deserved.

He failed.

"Cas, I just can't! I'm sorry, I _can't_ do it anymore!"

He failed… just like he failed in being enough to keep his brother around, in helping his mother, in not embarrassing her.

He failed again.

When would he stop the cycle?

Honestly, it felt like he never would.

Maybe they were all correct, maybe he was broken, an embarrassment of a person, maybe he was this disgusting excuse of a mess that did not deserve her or anyone.

Maybe he would never be fixed.

Maybe people were better off without him.

Not maybe, he recalled thinking, not even two weeks later, as he walked into some liquor store, walked to the very back and stared at all the different beer available, eyes burning from a lack of sleep and probably something more, he did not bother pinning it to one specific cause.

Not maybe, he recalled thinking, as he reached in to pull out one of those stupid, disgusting ales his so-called friends raved about and went to the cashier, some young man who seemed to not care less about how he looked and more about him paying so he could get back to watching his game and Castiel had that same level of care about how much he gave him, slapping down a twenty and not bothering with the change, however much that might have been since it was just one bottle.

That was all he would need, he estimated.

So not maybe, he thought, as he got to his apartment, poured out all the little white pills he had refrained from taking for a week along with a new prescription he picked up the day before, counting them and adding up how strong a dosage it would be, which was rather pointless, but it nagged at him to know at least that.

Even at the end, he could not overcome it.

And it was not maybe, as he swallowed one handful and took a long drink of this ale that was too bitter for him and left him coughing at the taste, body protesting against it, though that hardly mattered, he took another handful, the pills leaving another bad taste in his mouth, then the rest of the ale and last of the little pills.

It was not maybe, as he drank some water after, waiting for whatever was meant to happen to go on and happen or when he started feeling nauseous and like vomiting, trying his best to will himself not to, to keep it down.

Of course it was not that maybe people would be better off without him, he thought in that moment, because if it was maybe, then he rationalised, as he was trying to not throw up and feeling sick and groaning at the horrible feeling–faintly, in the back of his mind, he thought he might have been crying or trying to–he would not have thought about doing this, probably.

He would have done things differently if it was maybe.

If it was maybe, he probably would not be so sick, he would be able to be normal, he would be free of this, free of the voice in his head, the shame he felt in who he was, always with the fear of being scolded or just scolding himself, the same way she did.

If it was maybe, he might not have felt so desperately alone.

\---

A burning pain finally snapped Castiel out of his thoughts and he looked down at his right wrist, noticing how red the skin was, already peeling and that would leave another scar, he was certain, more so due to the rough material of his gloves scratching against it so hard for the time it did. Sighing softly, he tugged down the cuff of his left sleeve, examining the skin there. It had some old scars and two raised semi-fresh ones, slightly pink and certain to leave scars as well, not that it would be anything new, he had numerous ones on his hands and forearms from when he scratched too much, gloves on or off.

It might have been a bit embarrassing, once upon a time, to look at his arms and hands without anything to shield them, to see all the scars he had, to know his hands would likely never be as smooth and soft as they should be, whatever that was, there were too many marks and rough spots from when he tore into them repeatedly, the scars left him with uneven skin in feel and tone, lighter lines all along. Sometimes, he still did feel bad–not embarrassed anymore, which was one positive–felt like he might never stop adding to them, like he would always have to look at a new set and see if they all fit together.

He stopped looking at them for the sake of not finding something wrong between them all, gripped the edge of the desk, counting and taking deep breaths.

He was alright.

He was here, he was alright, nothing bad was happening, he did not have to do anything, he was alright, he was safe, it was just a compulsion, not him, and he could separate himself from that.

That was a compulsion.

He was Castiel James Novak.

He was Castiel James Novak and he was alright.

He took deep breaths, reminded himself of these facts, waited for it to pass, worked through it, and released the hold in the desk soon after.

He could do this.

It had been nearly seven years, he had avoided this for that entire time, had pretended it never happened, none of it did because it was easier that way, to erase it. Except, that was never truly gone, not really, he only liked to believe it was, which only let it fester and become worse, it ran one's life subconsciously to a certain point if never dealt with and he had taught plenty of students and had plenty of clients he told the same thing to, he encouraged them to face it one step at a time.

Perhaps it was seeing this email or perhaps it was seeing Dean's insistence that he could face his fear of being in a car, knowing parts of the reason behind it, there were many possible variables that could have affected his decision now, though he liked to believe it was some sort of deep hidden courage that was awaken from seeing the same trait in another, someone he felt close to and could not relate exactly to, although closely enough.

That might have been what he never had with Daphne, she never understood enough of him to help, to empathise, to do anything but insist he needed help, like he was some doll to be repaired.

He was no doll, he was Castiel James Novak and he had OCD, he had accepted that was who he was.

So did Dean.

Dean refused to speak, even now he refused with anyone but him and sometimes still with him unless he believed it was something that truly required verbalisation, he had a phobia of cars, Castiel accepted that was who he was.

And maybe Dean did not accept that entirely yet, it did not stop him from facing it.

They had one another, that was enough and in the end, he believed that was all that mattered.

That was part of what love was, right?

People usually had this idealistic view of it, he heard it from clients often enough, they thought it to be this magical cure all and he never shot down the idea of it, never tried to rip their beloved ideal apart, that would be counterproductive. Tried to get them to realise they were as much a reason for their improvement and to not forget that, he would do that, yes, but never say they were wrong.

Everyone had their own idea of love, though Castiel never believed it was magical like that, he never had the outlook on life required for that. Love, he believed, was something that inspired people to act on something they already had in them, maybe something like a lighter, if he had to compare it that particular aspect of love to something. There was the lighter, but it was up to the person themselves to use it, to light the candle wick and from there, it was something like a domino effect. And if the light ever was blown out, for whatever reason, then the lighter would still be there for them to use.

Maybe he would think of a better comparison later.

However, the fact was that it was just enough.

Castiel let out a slow exhale and put his fingers to the keys.

He could do this, he could light that candle, it was time to do so and if he stumbled or the flame went out, well, he had Dean there and Dean had him.

And so, the professor began to type.

_Daphne,_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, progress, isn't that nice? I think it is. When I decided to keep writing and adding to this story, I considered a lot of possible directions and such, but this one seemed like the best, in my head. It might be obvious where it's going, might not, though I can't say exactly because it's not written yet, haha;;
> 
> Castiel's flashback is kind of everywhere and pieces are vague or strange sounding for a reason, to emphasise how deeply buried he's had it, how he's still reluctant to actually think about it and the impact it has on him, all of that. And, his reaction to the overdose of pills, the nausea and all, well, just another thing from experience, pieces of it, and I use it for a number of reasons. 
> 
> And, the way I see it, with the manner they communicate, both of them saying they love each other and such, I don't think it'd be a very lengthy discussion or they'd make a huge deal about it. Castiel said it and moved on to the books because he knows Dean isn't the type to have talks like that and he doesn't really mind that, he knows how they feel about each other, they don't always need to say it or talk about what it means for them and all, they understand each other. Nice and sweet stuff like that. 
> 
> I took the information for Mt. Sac from the website and adjusted it some, it's pretty relevant to the story. Or, I plan to make it so. 
> 
> I'll add any other notes if I remember them.


	18. April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Castiel and Dean have to face the past, which is harder than it seems, with disagreements and hurdles galore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, I got it up within a week, haha! I wasn't quite expecting to for a few reasons, which are mostly work-related. But, here it is and hopefully the whole thing makes sense, it skips around a bit and stuff because as interesting as therapy and recovery are to me, there's a difference between seeing it and all then reading it. 
> 
> Not really any warnings to put here that either have been mentioned in previous chapters or in the tags. Any typos I might have missed, I'll catch as I read through it and fix, feel free to point them out, too. 
> 
> Enjoy! :D

_Nope._

No, no, no, no way in hell, nope, not on his fucking life.

Dean may as well as have kicked the door clean off in his haste to get it open and get the fuck out, hearing the engine cut off and driver's door open. He had fallen out unceremoniously in his haste, tripping over his legs and not giving one fuck, using his shitty hands to pull himself away, ninety-nine percent sure he was hyperventilating as Castiel knelt down beside him, his hands were shaking and he shut his eyes, trying to get rid of the far too real recollection of the fire, the smoke, the burning flesh, the glass in his lungs.

"Dean. Dean, look at me. What colour are my eyes?"

That was the weirdest fucking question the professor could ask right now and that was what prompted him to answer.

"B-blue."

"What do you smell right now?"

What?

Smell?

"F-flowers?"

Castiel had reached out and hooked two fingers on the cuff belt of his jacket, his other hand hovering over it, as that was as much as he could do, which Dean never minded.

"What do you feel?"

"… You."

The man watched Dean carefully, noting his breathing and the improvements as he asked his questions. Although it had an unfortunate repercussion on him, he had learnt that Dean relied heavily upon things he could feel and smell more than anything else, accounting to why it was so helpful that he held him that day he saw the Impala. And it was the only thing he could do, what he had just done, to get him grounded and stop the panic before it became too powerful for him to merely talk the other through. The rest, he would leave up to him, when he saw he could do it on his own, that was what the student preferred and he would go along with it if that made the process easier for him.

Relieved that nothing worse had occurred, Castiel smiled lightly.

"Perhaps that wasn't the best idea."

Of course, when Dean had told him he wanted to go to WPA and he would ride with him, he imagined at some point he would need to familiarise himself with the Volt. The first weekend after he had told him that, Castiel had left his keys there for him as he cleaned the house with the comment of being available if he needed anything. And whilst he had not gone out to the car and gotten in, he had grabbed his set of keys and examined the key fob without flinching or looking entirely uncomfortable after eyeing them warily.

That was last weekend.

On Friday, before he left to work, Dean had handed him his tumbler and told him, "The store, I want to go there tomorrow."

The fact that he was told the day before did not bother him as it would have years back, when he tried to pretend he was someone who could do things at the drop of a hat. Nowadays, he knew his limits, he had told Dean that he was happy to spend time with him, but he had to know when they would go out some time before and to make it easier, he put aside some time every day, just in case, talked to him to know what time would be best for the both of them.

So, part of Saturday's time would be used to go to the store.

Or, that had been Dean's plan, up until the car had actually started and here they were now. The male was clenching his jaw, eyebrows knit together in anger, all directed towards himself, no doubt. Castiel had already released his cuff belt, shifting his weight some to keep himself balanced, he would stay here as long as Dean needed.

"Maybe we need to have something more to help."

Talking aloud helped Dean, too, whether he would admit it or not, hearing someone speak their thoughts reassured him. Understandable, he decided, too many times was he paranoid about what people thought of him after he had a panic attack or when he would follow through with a compulsion.

"What's your favourite smell?"

"Forest and linen."

The answer was blurted out immediately and Castiel could not help the smile that followed.

With that, they found themselves back in the house, with Castiel grabbing some sort of satchels to hand to Dean. It was strong smelling, but it was right, it was the same smell he had come to associate with the professor, what he remembered and it was a hell of a lot better than smoke and burnt flesh. The professor gave him the choice of where he wanted to put them and how many, so he decided on underneath each seat, to see how that worked out.

When he put the second one in and was about to tell Castiel if they could try again, the man was staring at his phone, frowning lightly at whatever he was looking at and his opposing hand scratching at his pant leg. Eyes narrowed, his first reaction was to recall the last time he ate and his free time, deeming it good for the time frame he considered.

It was not going to happen again.

"Cas? You alright?"

Probably not, since the guy had startled and tucked his phone away like he had been caught with weed or something, smiling awkwardly.

"Yes. Yes, I apologise, I'm fine. An old colleague of mine is all."

Old colleague?

Every old colleague he had heard of so far was a dick and a half, not something that reassured him and the other saw that, clearly, since he dropped his gaze, he always did when he tried to refrain from saying something but did not want to seem like a liar. And he did not want to put him on the spot, it was a bitch, so he nudged the passenger's door with his leg.

"At least you're not perfectly fine. 'Til then, again."

It was something he had picked up on fairly quickly, the other's use of the phrase and how he would always, always apologise right before saying it, like he did it subconsciously, apologising for the fact that he used it or that might be him thinking too much into it. At one point, Sam had joked that they shared a brain or something because of how easily they picked up on one another's ticks or figured out what they were thinking, like peas in a pod or some silly sounding thing.

Whatever it was, it worked, they carried on, and Castiel did not look so distressed or glance at his phone again, so he counted that as a win.

This was good.

\---

This was bad.

Castiel had done perhaps the most unprofessional thing in his entire working career not even five minutes ago, something he would pay more attention to and give the proper amount of mortification later, when he was not running down the stairs, across the area to the parking lot, narrowly avoiding crashing into a group of students going down the slope until he managed his way to his car and took off.

Logically, he should have taken his time and double checked everything then triple checked then once more rather than only checking once and hoping the safety features would provide the rest.

Except, his logic had kind of flown out the window, after his phone had started vibrating fifteen minutes into class and he saw that it was a text from Dean. That was not entirely new, he got texts from him from time to time, what was new was the hour, he was supposed to be in Gabriel's class right now, he saw him just this morning before he left–he had left earlier, considering the bus schedules–and when he texted him, it was usually not the equivalent to smacking his hand against the touchscreen and accidentally hitting send.

Nor did he usually receive a call after that he took after excusing himself from the class, only to hear something that made his nearly stop.

His students would likely question his hasty declaration of, "I apologise, I have to go, class dismissed," or it was something along those lines that he hoped did not sound as terrified as he felt.

Right now, his lungs and legs burnt from the sprint, his clothes felt like they clung in places they should not, they were certainly not made for running and he may have broken a few minor regulations as he drove, such as not coming to a complete halt at a stop sign or not turning into the lane closest to him, pulling into a parking lot and wincing at the lurch the Volt gave from turning in too quickly.

Later, later he would worry, it was like all the possible panic and dread his body was capable of was in use at the moment, anything else did not fully sink in.

What sunk in was that he had run into City Hall, no doubt scaring the few workers there that bothered paying attention and thankfully the security guard appeared to be elsewhere, they might have questioned why he was frantically searching for the bathroom and almost tumbled into it with how fast he went in.

None of that mattered at the moment when he saw Dean huddled under the blow dryer, with a very red mark along his cheek, that went on who knew how long with how his hands were covering part of his face and he was gasping for air, sounding for all he was worth like a fish out of water.

"Dean? I'm right here, I'm right here with you. Just breathe."

The male had gone and made some painful noise in his effort to breathe, speak and sniffle all at the same time, a high wheezing one and the bit that managed to be intelligible sounded something like he was apologising, his response being a shake of his head, if only for the sake of making some noise to show he was, in fact, still there and moving, not some disembodied voice.

"It's okay, you don't have to apologise. Take your time."

Castiel waited a few beats before asking, "Can I see your face?"

It took some time and he suppressed the urge to fret over him immediately, seeing the mark go from the corner of his eye all the way down to the edge of his lips, following along the scar he had. He had appeared to have gone right along it, more or less, though he did not say anything right away, more relieved about the other not sounding like he was trying to breathe with half a lung and pointedly avoiding questioning why he looked like he had been crying.

Panicking did that, he knew, mentioning it would do no good.

Instead, he grabbed a paper towel, ran it under water and grabbed another dry one before squatting in front of him, it was a little awkward with trying to slot himself in between his legs to get as close as he was okay with, since Dean was sitting with his legs oddly spread, his left leg not quite tucked under him so he was sitting on it but not drawn up to his chest and left somewhere in between where it simply looked like it hurt.

"Is this okay?"

Castiel hated how little a response he received, if he could even count the sharp, shuddered inhale he got as a response more than him trying to breathe, though he smiled anyway and carefully cleaned the mark, the bit of blood there was, having folded the towel enough that he did not directly touch the male.

The hard part about this was that he was not in the area when this happened nor was he told of what he was going to try, so he had no idea what happened, what had gone and triggered this, that made helping a little more difficult. Nonetheless, he did what he could, wiped away the tear tracks and all, pulling out his phone–thankfully, he had not dropped it in his haste–and tapping away.

Dean had an attachment to this song, for reasons he did not know and he did not ask, he would tell him if he wanted to.

_"Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."_

It was something to think about, really, that a song that held such meaning to Dean was one he was willing to share with him, back when Hael had been insistent in her advances. He had mulled over it when he realised this, which hardly felt like long ago, a rather strange notion because he felt like he had a very alarmingly good sense of time, how it passed and what was to come, on account of having everything within a schedule.

_"And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders. For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder."_

Castiel allowed the song to play, the only other noises Dean's inhales and the soft squeaks of his gloves as he clenched and unclenched his hand with the paper towels still held. Nagging at him, it was nagging and itching that he had to throw these away, they had been used, cleaned Dean up, it had all these fluids and he was getting a little more desperate every second to get as far away from them as possible.

_Do you want to get sick and **die?**_

He was okay.

He was okay and he told Dean he was there, he would stay, he was okay, he reminded himself he could not get sick and die from this, he was okay, that was just misinformation, that was it, he was okay, he was safe, he was healthy.

He was here for Dean.

Dean, who had glanced at the paper towels in his hand and gave some strange grunt in between trying to catch his breath, jerking his head to the trash can and nodding.

Castiel wished he could have said that he insisted it was okay instead of getting up as fast as humanly possible to toss them in the trash.

Not that the other seemed to mind because when he got back he was already pinching the fabric of his shirt, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger, staring at it intently. With little he could do to help with the tactile factors that helped, he did the next best thing and removed his trench coat, the noise catching the other's attention and blinking when it was set on his shoulders.

The trench coat was a little big on him, not quite enough to be noticed at a glance by anyone and just enough for it to be comfortable, like a sort of portable safe space. On Dean, however, it was more than fitting, his shoulders were a bit broader than his own and he had no doubt he was more fit than he was, upper body wise, he exercised only enough to stay fit, not quite the candidate to go and work out and sweat.

The student had adjusted the coat after it was placed and having felt the pain in his leg, tried to stretch it back out, growing irritated when he could not. Fucking perfect, he had just fucked up in the hugest way then gone and made it worse by calling Castiel–he was in fucking class, he should not have called–and now his leg was refusing to budge because it was fucking stupid and he was, too, this was all fucking stupid, he should have just di-

"Dean?"

Eyes darting over, he saw Castiel adjusting himself again, gloves squeaking as he flexed his fingers and were it someone else, he might feel equally angry and ashamed at his lack of ability to get his own body to move how he wanted.

Today, he sniffed and felt like shit.

The professor had taken the answer and carefully grabbed the cuff of his pants with one hand, brushing up against his work boots but nothing more and the other held the area by his knee, knowing he would not touch him there, before slowly easing it out to stretch, scooting back as he did to give him space.

The silence remained for a time most would find uncomfortable until Dean broke it by mumbling.

"… 'm not stupid…"

"I know you're not."

"Sam thinks 'm stupid."

"Of all the things he thinks of you, I don't think stupid is one of them."

Now, Castiel could ask why, though he learnt that was never quite required of Dean when he spoke like this, he did so on his own, asking why actually seemed to deter him from explaining.

"'Cause he thinks I don't know he drives 'round in a car, that Jess and him both pitch in for it."

"The car Jessica came over in?"

A 2005 Honda Accord, he recalled.

"Yeah. It's theirs. Sam thinks I don't know, don't know he comes with me from the house up to here so he can take the car with Jess, fucking lying about taking the bus."

Gabriel did mention that Sam would often complain about the bus schedules to him, that it was much easier from their house, but at the apartments, it was not when trying to accommodate both their schedules and it ran late sometimes, which was not exactly the greatest impression one wanted to make. His brother also mentioned how he did drive him back to the apartments, when he had been discharged from the hospital, along with to school. All this made sense to Castiel, except a few parts.

Why not simply tell Dean he wanted to be driven around–if he did not have his license, he had never asked–or drive himself?

Of course, it was a pointless question, he was well aware why. Sam had his heart in the right place, but he was practically still a child when the accident occurred, he likely had no idea how to handle it then, the older brother he knew had all but physically left him, from the few stories he heard of how Dean was before from him when it was just the two of them. And he had never really learnt how to communicate with him, always treated him like a fragile look-a-like and never wanted to do or say a single thing to upset him.

Driving, obviously, would upset him, so better to keep it secret.

Secrets never worked out well, he would know.

"So I stuck around, think he suspected I knew the longer I stayed, watched him and Jess get on the bus. Figured I wasn't going to be late 'cause…"

Here, Dean grunted in discomfort as he shoved his hand in his pocket, pulling something out to show him.

"Dean…"

The key.

He had the key to the car, he had planned to drive to school.

It hardly took a genius to put two and two together, the plan was awful, he had been too emotional and acted rashly, he was not going to succeed, he had panicked at the mere fact that he was in a car when the engine turned on not too long ago and it was a rather strange thing to think about how that was terribly similar to parents who pushed their children into the deep end of the pool and told them to learn to swim or drown.

What a ghastly image.

Even with thinking that was not a plan that was going to work, he refrained from saying that, there was no need, it would not help, and if he was going to hear him out, then he would do just that, same as he would with his patients and he was not a therapist to tell people what to do or think, that was not his job.

He was meant to help as a therapist.

Since this was not strictly patient and therapist, however, it was something he wanted to do for Dean, he felt a bit more comfortable taking the key dangling in front of him and responding.

"What if you got a parking ticket? I'm sure it has a permit for Stanford, but I don't think the college accepts that. And the woman who writes the tickets is a very no-nonsense person, I have seen all kinds of attempts of getting out of tickets and not one has worked."

Not the answer Dean had been expecting of him, he smiled slightly at the narrowed eyes.

"You expect me to say how foolish that was, don't you? That's the experience you've had with therapists, even with other adults. I've heard that, too. But, I'm happy you're here, is all. And I'll be glad to help you deal with this however you need, even if that's not necessarily doing anything but being here."

Pocketing the keys in his slacks, he stood up and offered both hands.

"Except, maybe 'here' could be less like a bathroom."

Dean blinked before lifting his arms up, allowing him to grab onto his sleeves to help him up as it was the only option other than grabbing his hands.

When they got outside, Dean pointed something out that he was trying not to think of.

"You parked crooked."

Castiel never parked crooked, not even when everyone else did, it was like some sort of power and it was not that off, the slightest bit to the right.

"Ah, I might have rushed parking. Actually, I think I rushed everything, I'm not even sure my students understood when I said class was dismissed early. I'm sure they left anyway."

"You cancelled class?"

Kind of stupid to ask since he was here, but he never cancelled class. Hell, the guy tried to go even when he could barely stand. That was his schedule, he always stuck to his schedule.

"I find our time set aside has been utilised today. Rather fortunate we allocated a specific amount of time per day and I plan my classes to accommodate up to two free days, since lectures don't always take the exact time I expect."

Castiel smiled.

"Would you care for a drink?"

Dean blinked.

Way too lucky to have met him.

"There's a Starbucks nearby. Although, I'd like to ask them for some kind of antiseptic first, I'm certain they have a first aid kit."

Oh. Right.

He had been so sure there was something in his skin, glass and metal, he had tried clawing at it, great lot of good that did.

What a fuck up on his part.

He would have to make it up to him somehow.

\---

Once Dean had insisted he was alright and he could go back to the house–he had told him Gabriel would excuse him from class without an issue, his word would be enough–Castiel had waited for the bus with him, requested he take care of his trench coat and gone back to school, there were still classes to teach, after all. And he still had about fifteen minutes left of office hours when he had returned, something he was not certain how he felt about when a certain male walked into his office.

"Castiel."

"Zachariah."

"I heard you cancelled class."

How word possibly travelled that fast, he would never comprehend, gossip was an ineffable mystery to him.

"There was an emergency, it was required."

"Hm. Not a very smart move, you know, what with the new position available."

New position?

"Pardon?"

He had not heard of an opening in their department, Anael had talked to him about department evaluations in the fall and having to rank them to see what department would be allowed to hire, it was some sort of meeting where all the department chairs bickered and, in Anael's words, threw tantrums over having low scores. Nothing had been mentioned about the psychology department being the one selected for the upcoming academic year.

"Didn't Anael mention? We're hiring two full time professors, but I guess moving up doesn't matter to you, what with cancelling class for personal reasons."

_Stab him already._

_Stab him already._

Castiel clenched his hands underneath his desk–a replacement from last fall–and swallowed down everything, the urge, the words he wanted to shout, and his next words were selected with the upmost restraint he had, for fear of losing against the itching, the nagging, the scratching in his chest and throat.

"Your subjectivity is showing, Professor Knapp. I am a professional at work, I have dedicated myself to educating my students without allowing biases to affect my capacity to teach and give them the grades they have earned. It is, perhaps, a trait you may care to replicate in the workplace. You may find it beneficial."

Much better than what wanted to come out.

And if he was the slightest bit entertained by the outraged look on the other's face before he swore and left, then he kept it to himself.

Now that he was gone, he had to find Anael.

\---

Twenty-four days.

Twenty-four days left until he had to take a seven hour ride to Long Beach.

Not that Dean was counting or anything, he just happened to be really good at math, so sue him.

Since the incident that had him acquainting himself quite well with City Hall, he had… improved.

Not that he was very satisfied with it, he thought he should have gotten over it by now, been able to be driven around without a problem rather than be able to go about fifteen or so minutes at most then starting to panic. That was too high an expectation, rationally, he pegged it to never quite having a rational idea about cars. Old Dean went fast, only fast, there seemed to be no actual in between of not moving and speeding down the road.

New Dean kind of had no speed but not moving and trying to push the stupid little imaginary lever that actually allowed him to move was like moving a ton of bricks.

Fuck imaginary levers.

Fuck everything.

Except maybe these apples and other ingredients he was carrying, walking down the sidewalk. He felt like having pie and not wanting to imposed like he likely already had so many times, he took the bus to the store and was now walking back to the house.

Honestly, he could not remember the last time he really stayed a long period of time at the apartment.

Gabriel had said that they might as well move in, save some money, and Sam had seemed intrigued, stating they could pitch in for some stuff so as not to just mooch off them and Castiel had no objections to it.

Of fucking course it was little Ol' Dean lagging.

Or, New Dean, whatever.

What the fuck ever, he was making pie and everyone was going to have some and they were going to fucking like it.

Another thing that should have been simple rationale was that Castiel and Gabriel were brothers, they were people, and therefore, they did not always agree with each other and sometimes, when people did not especially agree, they argued.

So, when he had unlocked the door and stepped into the foyer, it should not have been as surprising to hear the shout travelling downstairs along with the softer replies, though they seemed strained with the effort to keep them that way because people argued.

Brothers especially, he had plenty of experience.

"What the fuck, Castiel!"

"Leave it be, Gabriel, I told you already."

"No way in hell! What the fuck is going through your head that you believe this is a good idea?"

"This isn't your concern. I've made my decision and I'm going to do this."

"No, you're not. I'm not going to let you."

There was a silence that should have told Dean to keep on walking to the kitchen and pretend he was not being a dick and eavesdropping.

"… Excuse me?"

He stayed like the dick he was.

"I'm not going to let you. She thinks she can waltz back into your life and everything will be okay? She's a bad person, Cas! Maybe for others, she's good, but she's bad for you! I won't –"

Even Dean startled at the sound of something breaking, some kind of porcelain, if he had to guess.

_"Shut up!"_

The shout might have been more the reason, though.

_"Shut up, shut up, shut up!"_

The litany continued and he heard Gabriel saying something like "stop," or "calm down," and he wanted to go up, to help, to repay him and the only reason he did not was because he got this, he got what it was to be between brothers and felt the only possible excusable reason to go was if it was too much for Gabriel.

At first, he thought it was, when he heard the screeched, _"Get away from me!"_

But then Castiel kept going.

"Don't you try and touch me! Don't you think you can decide what I do, who I talk to, who I face from my past! Don't you dare tell me what to do and think, don't you dare think you can _control_ me! You weren't there when Mother did for _years,_ you were never there, you _left_ me! So don't you think you have a say in who or what I confront from the past for the sake of my well-being!"

Fuck.

Dean had never heard the professor raise his voice beyond maybe trying to get the attention of the class and that sounded the same as when he lectured, all that changed was like a volume knob turned up a little. This was like it was forced all the way to the right and then some, he sounded… not angry, per se, it was far more emotional sounding than maybe anything he had heard come out of his mouth–he purposely did not count the time in December–because he was always so composed.

_I think I'm a mess, which confuses a lot of people._

_… but that's rather superficial when everything else of me is a mess._

Not that he wanted a whole lot of examples of that, but this seemed to be one of them.

He sounded like he was in pain, he concluded, like saying what he did actually physically hurt along with mentally.

A door had been shut loudly, not quite slammed, enough to know the person was not in the best mental state and he must have stood there too long because Gabriel had come down the stairs and noticed him halfway, giving a small, "Oh. You heard that, huh?"

Old Dean might have cracked a joke about the next door neighbour and their aunt hearing that.

New Dean sniffed.

Sufficient to make him deflate even more–who knew how, the guy already looked miserable–he made his way down the rest of the stairs and waved a hand as he passed him by. Following him to the kitchen, he set the paper bag down and sat on one of the chairs, watching Gabriel rummage around for something, hesitate, then decide against whatever he was about to do and leant against the counter, head tilting back as he groaned.

"He should know I'm not trying to be an ass. It's just…"

Dean was good at reading people by this point in his life, so the aggravated noise paired with the hand gesture said more to him than one might think.

"God, she's just such a… a fucking dense, irritating _bitch_ and I know I shouldn't use that because some think it's insulting to the female population as a whole, but I'm too damn pissed to give a crap and she is a goddamn bitch."

Hell, Dean was not going to say anything against it, he used it, too, from time to time, when he thought ill of people. Yeah, there was the issue that it was tossed around as an insult and when someone said it to a guy, they were implying they were like a whiny chick which implied chicks were all whiny and crap, but damn, sometimes one got so mad, it just kind of came out, like with Gabriel. He figured, so long as it was not intended for that implication, it was just something like calling someone an ass, it was not as bad, no one was perfect anyway.

Sniffing, it seemed like a go ahead for Gabriel to keep talking, ranting, venting, whatever.

"Yeah, I know I was an asshole and left Cas with our mother soon as I could get the hell out of there and he held up pretty okay on his own because he pretty much had to, but I'm fucking trying now. And I sure as hell don't think he should meet Daphne again, I don't think it's going to help more than hurt."

Daphne?

His ex-girlfriend Daphne?

The same Daphne that was the reason he saw Castiel cry?

The same Daphne he wanted to push off a cliff because she pushed Castiel to the point of trying to take his own life?

Well, the last was a mix of her and her douche friends.

Still, that same Daphne?

Right now, he could either give his own opinion and agree with Gabriel, which might not get them anywhere, or he could listen, same way he knew Castiel did for him.

He went with the latter and the other did continue with his rant about how that was wrong and he was concerned, was all, and how he wanted to go to the convention just to give her a piece of his mind, but had already taken time off for a sociology convention thing in Las Vegas and had some other stuff he could not get out of and generally, how he felt like shit.

"I didn't mean to set him off like that. I get he's pretty damn traumatised about what our mother did, I don't blame him, but I didn't mean to try and sound like her, you know? I want the best for him, which sounds shitty because she probably said the same thing, but I actually mean it."

That seemed to be all the steam he had and Dean pursed his lips together, faced with yet another choice. In the end, he went with the choice he thought was right, it was best.

Maybe not for him, if he were being selfish, but it was the best for Gabriel, for Castiel, and he had maybe, kind of relearnt that over the past year.

"It used to be like that, after the accident. A bunch of nurses and doctors and therapists all telling me what to do. When to eat, what to eat, how long to sleep, how to sleep, what to think, sometimes it seemed like they wanted to tell me when to breathe. They all thought they cared. Some actually seemed like they did. But, I didn't want that, none of it. I wanted to do shit my way, after I was able to think right again. I didn't want their therapy and stupid canes or their generic speeches, I wanted to learn to walk and use my hands again myself and not say a damn word. Even when Sam offered to help, I didn't want him to do anything for me."

He had relearnt that because well, how could he not, being around Castiel so long?

"I wanted to get better on my own terms, not what those jackasses expected of me, I wanted to be my okay and not their idea of it. And if that was stupid and wrong and all sorts of fucked up then fine, I was stupid and wrong and all sorts of fucked up but that was my okay and one of the reasons I came all the way to California was because too many thought my okay wasn't acceptable back in Lawrence, always kept trying to tell me what to do. Cas never said shit, he knew my okay and left it that way. But stuff changes and people learn it does, so people's okay change and they start to see what's good for them. And Cas used to think avoiding her was okay, now his okay changed to facing her and what she caused."

That was not anywhere near as eloquent as Castiel might have done it, he had sworn and used pretty informal language compared to the professor, who managed to sound like he swallowed a dictionary and book of etiquette yet somehow made everything understandable and empathetic. On the other hand, it had gotten the job done and Gabriel looked to be thinking about what he said.

Hell, he hardly thought his words deserved such contemplation, never did before, always said the wrong things. Maybe he was getting a little better at not spewing out word vomit every time he opened his mouth to speak, maybe that was something like an improvement.

Hah, top that, Old Dean.

After a decidedly long time, Gabriel levelled him with a stare and he waited, same as was done with him, for what was going to be said.

"Alright. But, I'm counting on you to be there since I can't."

Dean sniffed.

Gabriel nodded.

"Good. Now, I have to go clean up something. You do… whatever you were going to do."

No doubt clean whatever he heard break.

On his way out, Gabriel had paused with a short, "Hey," to direct his attention from the apples he was pulling out to the professor and his grin.

"Good job with your first patient, Dean-o. You'd be a good therapist."

Dean had never really thought of that, figured he would never get out of community college, but it did not seem… difficult.

Actually, it was kind of natural, after having remained quiet, always listening, for so long. This time, the only difference was that someone had actually been talking to him instead of talking about him to someone and pretending he was not there. It made it a little better, he mused, he hardly appreciated being ignored, no one did.

A good therapist.

Huh.

All throughout making a larger version of the mini pies he had once made, the thought lingered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, geez, what an interaction between Castiel and Gabriel. Dean was bound to see–or hear, in this case–it eventually. And, I did want to do something eventually to show Castiel's loss of composure, not just where he panics and all, but gets upset and can't exactly filter what comes out, things like that because I've shown him thus far as a very collected individual, capable of keeping his reactions and words to himself and facing things very calmly. But, he's only human and he's got a lot on his plate to deal with, if it wasn't this, it was just going to be something else. 
> 
> But, good things, too! Kind of laying the foundation for the ending, with the two of them, if you think about it. I didn't try to be subtle with it, haha. There's also a few displays of how Castiel's improved with his capability to touch, just a bit, and Dean's willingness to communicate in more ways than one. So, hooray, progress in all the ways. 
> 
> If there are any other notes, I'll add them later.

**Author's Note:**

> Have an amazing day! :D


End file.
